


The Disappearance of Adèle Landsbury

by a_different_equation



Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Case Fic, English Countryside, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, M/M, Miscarriage, Near Death Experiences, Older Characters, References to Canon, Victorian, Whump, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25422895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation/pseuds/a_different_equation
Summary: It’s the dead of winter, a little girl is missing. Can Sherlock Holmes and John Watson save her in time? In particular, as they aren’t young men anymore...
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 53
Kudos: 61





	1. A Little Girl Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadySybille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySybille/gifts).
  * A translation of [L'ENLÈVEMENT D'ADÈLE LANDSBURY](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18368351) by [LadySybille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySybille/pseuds/LadySybille). 



> Hello & Salut!
> 
> I fell in love with this story around a year ago. _L'Enlèvement d'Adèle Landsbury_ is no cosy country crime, but a solid thriller with an original case, red herrings and a proper mystery. That Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are older men, referring to themselves as "old couple" at one point, added to the charm. Yes, there are multiple ACD canon references, but also so many own details of a winter world that you shiver. 
> 
> Almost instantly, I wanted to translate it into English to bring the truly exceptional story to a wider audience. Lucky me, LadySybille, the original author, gave me permission to do so. Merci beaucoup!
> 
> Enjoy _The Disappearance of Adèle Landsbury_ , but please, keep in mind that it's a crime thriller and check out the tags and the added archive warning. It's 28k of gorgeous, stunning prose, but it's no nice stroll in a park. 
> 
> Everything is translated, so expect weekly updates every Saturday.
> 
> Ade

_In my coat I sit_

_At the window sill_

_Wintering with snow_

_That did not melt_

_It fell long ago_

_At night, by stealth_

_I was where I am_

_When the snow began_

Samuel Menashe: **The Dead of Winter**

* * *

Winter in all its splendour reigned over London. Everything was cold. The sun couldn’t break through the hazy sky. It had been going on for several months with no end in sight.

At the time of this particular adventure, I lived with Sherlock Holmes in Baker Street once more. I was a widower as my wife Mary had been dead for years. Now, her face was only a dear memory. The company of the great detective as well as our shared adventures let me not dwell too much on the past. 

However, that particular day was depressing. 

I looked out the window. The snow had spread its thin white shroud. The few cabs that were passing by had to struggle to get through the street. Added to this was an incredibly thick fog which was floating in front of 221b and preventing us from seeing even the house opposite.

A deep silence stagnated in our living room, a palpable tension. Without a doubt, it was the last fragment of our morning argument. I wanted to restart the discussion, dying to make a last plea to Holmes and willing to take all the risks that this manoeuvre entailed, and yet I did not dare to disturb him.

Sherlock Holmes was curled up in his armchair. A cup of tea balanced on his armrest, completely uncaring of risk of burning himself. Frowning, he smoked his strongly fragrant black tobacco, his Persian slipper at the ready. He was deep in thought. 

Forcing myself to calm down, I returned to sit opposite Holmes and tried to take an interest in the medical papers in my lap.

* * *

For about two good hours, the turning of pages and the crackling wood in the fireplace were the only sounds to break our silence from time to time. 

My patience was running thin towards Holmes’ stubbornness to ignore the elephant in the room. The night was soon to fall and dinner was well past, without the great detective making so much comment. 

Suddenly Holmes snapped his book shut so loudly that it made me jump.

“No, Watson. Do not insist!"

"But Holmes. I didn't say anything…" I risked it.

"Your whole attitude belies your words. You sigh, walk, watch me constantly, but understand me! This is out of the question. So stop bothering me with this story."

Holmes' eyes shone with anger. In turn, my impatience grew.

"Holmes, you are impossible! Colonel Landsbury needs you, you must go."

"No, Watson. I will not."

The tone was rising between us. I could not see how to calm down my companion, or how to change his mind. Holmes sometimes had those incomprehensible quirks that were difficult to counter. Silence fell again over the living room, now even deeper, more hostile. I paced back and forth in our living room, while Holmes pretended to dive back into his reading.

Mrs Hudson's worried face appeared in the doorway. Our raised voices must have alerted her.

"What's going on, Mrs Hudson?" asked Holmes, lacking any courtesy.

"There is a message for you, Mr Holmes," our landlady replied blankly.

"Where is it from?"

"From Norwich."

Holmes burst into a nervous laugh, then he resumed his reading. I walked over to Mrs Hudson and grabbed the letter with a hopefully reassuring smile. She thanked me and fled.

“You're acting not very gentlemanlike to poor Mrs Hudson."

Instead of answering me, he turned a page of his book. 

Shrugging my shoulders, I opened the letter. The content was as expected, having been reading one similar this morning and one yesterday.

> Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes,
> 
> I write to you again to insist and ask for your help. I am aware of your lack of free time, Mr Holmes, but I need you. As you should know by now, my daughter Adèle was abducted on Saturday. I'm starting to doubt I'll ever see her again. The local police are already talking about closing the case. But I cannot bring myself to believe that my little girl is dead before I have tried everything. You are our last chance. One of my best friends, Sir Robert Noberton, told me that you are a man one can trust. Please come to Norwich as soon as possible and find my Adèle.
> 
> Best regards,
> 
> Colonel Charles Landsbury 

"This is one of the most pitiful letters we have ever received," I tried. "Landsbury needs your help, Holmes."

Holmes remained silent, more sullen than ever.

“She is a pretty little child, this Adèle. The colonel attached her photograph this time."

I went up to Holmes to force him to look at her. She was smiling at the photographer, ribbons in her hair.

"Indeed," Holmes whispered hoarsely.

"Landsbury is desperate. He is a widower for only five years. His only child was abducted. She is only nine. The case has made the headlines for days”, I tried urgently.

"And mentioned in my mail," said Holmes bitterly.

"I don't understand your stubbornness. Why do you not agree to help him?"

Holmes unfolded and straightened himself from the armchair. He took a few steps in the living room, aiming for the windows. Looking out, his back to me, he finally spoke: “Because I wouldn't be of any use. The girl has been dead for almost a week."

"How can you be so sure, Holmes?"

"Very well, my dear Watson," he sighed. "I will lay down my reasoning, so hopefully you will agree to leave me in peace. Colonel Landsbury's wife died when Adèle was four. She is an only child, as you repeatedly said. He is desperate and rich, but he hasn't received any ransom demands yet…"

"The little one was kidnapped on Saturday, Holmes."

"Yes. And now it’s Friday. Do you understand, Watson?"

Holmes left his spot at the window and rushed to search through the pile of newspapers on our living room floor. Being successful, he sat down opposite me, carrying some with him.

"Adèle disappeared on Saturday. Now it is Friday," he repeated. "Her father did not receive the first letter until yesterday morning which means that it is too late to find a nine-year-old girl lost in the wild. I don't see how I could help him. I prefer not to start an investigation with full certainty of the outcome."

"I see, Holmes. Do you think that you have no chance of finding the little girl alive?"

"Not in the least," the detective admitted grimly.

"But you could at least find the culprits. Avenge Adèle!"

Something had to melt down Holmes’ coldness. 

“It will not bring Adèle back to life."

"Of course, Holmes, but that will allow this unfortunate father to mourn his daughter."

"To help him mourn? Solving the case so that he will accept the unacceptable?"

Once more I was confronted with Holmes' lack of human feelings. Alas, I could be stubborn too. After all, I was the one the public perceived as the more human. Lastly, I knew him well enough to push the right buttons.

“No, the colonel won't accept the truth until it is shown to him."

"He only wants proof of the death of his daughter?"

"Yes, Holmes. Are you able to give this to him?"

Holmes did not answer immediately. Instead, he clutched Adèle's photograph in his hands. He looked at it for long, silent minutes.

“You won, Watson,” he huffed. "The colonel is a clever fox. Sending me a photograph of his daughter was smarter than all his tearful speeches."

My face showed no relief or so I hoped. 

"Sir Robert Noberton is not an unknown name for us," I said, resuming the conversation sometime later.

"Indeed, Watson: Sir Robert is a former client. He introduced us to the interesting _Shoscombe Old Place_ mystery. However, I am not very familiar with the biography of Colonel Landsbury. Let's see L-file.”

Holmes grabbed a large, dusty cardboard folder, then he began to read aloud.

“Landsbury Charles: born April 23, 1843, in London. His father is Sir Henri Landsbury, an officer in the English army. His mother is Mary Jane Winslow, daughter of fruit and vegetable wholesaler James Winslow."

"What a misalliance!" I couldn't help but exclaim.

"Yes, but look at the fortune of James Winslow! It is easy to understand why Officer Lansbury agreed to break the rule to marry a girl of the middle class. "

"Landsbury conducted brilliant studies in the colony of India. He entered the Indian Army at the age of 20. Promoted to colonel for his feats of arms during the war in Afghanistan. In 1891, Charles Landsbury retired to settle down in Norwich."

"Succinct", said the detective, closing the file. "It's up to us to fill in the gaps", smiled Holmes." "The Daily Telegraph reported about the private life of our client last Monday. Landsbury married Hélène Morton in 1892. She died ten years later of lung disease if the papers are to be believed."

"And now their daughter gets kidnapped. This is a series of misfortunes which much leave the colonel embittered.”

"Under such circumstances, he must have been very attached to his daughter." With these words, Holmes was silent. He looked down at the fading fire. “But that doesn't change the fact that the case is off to a bad start. We will never find the girl alive."

"Maybe…"

"Landsbury is a rich man and what's more, he's lonely. I repeat: he only has his daughter left. Considering the tone of his letter, he cherishes her more than anything. How can it be that a ransom has not already been demanded?"

"The criminals may have preferred to lay low for a while so as not to arouse the suspicion of the police…"

Holmes shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

“What suspicions? The police know nothing and have no clue. The kidnappers have free rein. No, I can see only one explanation for this lack of ransom."

"Which is?"

"Adèle is dead. They may not have killed her on purpose, but she is dead. Which is not surprising given the cold that reigns over England these days. Focus on the upside, Watson: The little girl did not have to endure the rigours of her confinement."

"You terrify me, Holmes."

"Or she was murdered," he continued coldly. "But in this case, the motive escapes me… ”

“Holmes, you always told me that a man needs clay to build bricks."

"Your point being, Watson?"

"That you won't get anywhere now. Rest! It is already late." He gave a little smile as I got up to go to the bedroom. "Tomorrow, at eight o'clock sharp, we will take the train to Norwich," I continued. "If you wish, of course…"

"You forced my hand, my dear Watson. Now you dare to ask me if I want to take the case? Do I have a choice, old boy?"

"No, I'm afraid not", I recognized, smiling.

* * *

The next morning, I found Holmes in the same position, looking more sullen than ever. I couldn't get anything out of him except a few indistinct growls. While my companion was getting ready for our trip to Norwich, I ate breakfast alone. I decided to take my doctor’s bag with me. There might only be a slim chance but I had not given up hope yet. Therefore, I wanted to be prepared for all eventualities.

When we arrived at Norwich, a man ran to us. He had a cap in hand, looking like the typical country coachman. 

“Mr Sherlock Holmes?"

Holmes nodded affirmatively. He introduced me but the coachman did not seem to be interested in my presence.

"I waited impatiently for you," cried the driver, relieved.

"Was the colonel so certain of our arrival?", the detective asked surprised.

"He didn't, but Miss Parker was. As always, she was the one who gave the orders and she was the one who sent me to get you. The colonel only obeyed."

We couldn't help but share a surprised look. If this mysterious Miss Parker knew how long it had taken me to persuade Holmes, she surely would never have been so sure of our coming.

Knowing my role, I picked up the conversation, as the coachman rushed around to our trunks.

“Who is Miss Parker?”

"She's Miss Adèle's governess."

"Any news?” I inquired with concern.

"From the little girl? Not the least. But Detective Stanley came yesterday and—”

“He decided to stop the search,” Holmes continued quietly.

"Well, yes, Mr Holmes. He said a child this age had no chance of surviving in this weather."

"Did he say that?"

"Yes, sir. And I have to admit that I think he's right. But the colonel does not want to accept it."

"Hence my presence here," concluded Holmes.

The driver nodded and we were able to get into a pretty, well-maintained English carriage, harnessed to two superb chestnut horses.

Soon we found ourselves in the countryside. It was gorgeous but bitterly cold. I could not imagine a nine-year-old child wandering alone through such a never-ending white. We passed a dark, snow-covered forest.

"Are there any farms nearby?"

"Yes, doctor. The Arlington Farm is less than a mile away from Crevecoeur Hall."

"Apart from Arlington?"

"There are the Winsterneys, but their mansion is a little further. Finally the home of old Count Henri de Questignac."

"A French?"

"Yes, a descendant of an immigrant from the Revolution. Pretty wild. Better to avoid getting in his way, if you ask me."

The coachman was a talkative man. Zooming out, Holmes let his gaze wander. I pretended to listen, but I was relieved when I saw Crevecoeur Hall appear on the horizon.

* * *

The main house was modest but well maintained. The walls were quite old but the cracks had been filled in. The restoration of the slate roofs must have been quite expensive. Everything foreshadowed that the master of Crevecoeur Hall was interested in the well-being of his people and their home.

We dismounted in the paved courtyard, feeling not sorry to finally find ourselves on dry land. Almost immediately, a woman appeared on the steps. A very beautiful woman with bright blonde hair and remarkable blue eyes. She wore a simple brown-coloured dress that enveloped her delicate form.

"Here you are at last," she smiled.

"You must be Miss Jane Parker, Adèle's governess," Holmes said.

"Yes. I see that Robert has been gossiping. He's an incorrigible talker but he does his job remarkably well. The colonel is waiting for you in the living room. You are invited to stay at Crevecoeur Hall during the investigation. Please, gentlemen, follow me."

We entered the house. To my surprise, Crevecoeur Hall was not damp. The rooms were well-tempered and the decor was tasteful. The master of Crevecoeur Hall was decidedly a refined man.

Robert put our trunks in the hall, then he returned to load the horses. A young servant took hold of our coats before we entered the living room. 

A man in his sixties was sitting in a large armchair. His face was turned towards the fireplace. Deep in contemplation, he appeared to not have heard our arrival. Miss Parker approached him very slowly and touched him on the shoulder. The man jumped, turned around quickly, and gave her a scared look.

"Any news from Adèle?"

"Sadly, no. But the gentlemen from London have arrived. These are Mr Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson."

The colonel rushed to meet us, a wild hope flashed across his face. 

“Mr Holmes, you've finally come. I have not been myself since Adèle disappeared. The local police as well as Inspector Stanley are convinced my daughter is dead. My servants are the same. But I can't believe it without proof. Show me that my little girl is dead, Mr Holmes, and I will believe you. I am going mad with all the waiting, the fear and the anxiety."

Indeed, the colonel’s eyes seemed dead. His face was extremely pale and his cheeks were hollow. His sorrow was evident not only for a doctor. Holmes, sensing something, shut the door to the living room. Instantly, a damn broke. He expressed violent sobs. I was stricken by this display of grief.

"Colonel, please, sit down," Holmes said softly. "My friend is a doctor. He's going to give you a tranquillizer." 

Holmes put his hand on Landsbury’s shoulder and led him back to his chair. A young woman appeared, a glass of alcohol in her hand, clearly worried. Holmes grabbed the glass and forced it into Landsbury's hands, who drained it in one sip.

"You have to understand," murmured the colonel. "She's my daughter, my whole life. I am ready to give all I have. Why don't they ask for money?"

"Calm down." I carried out Holmes' order and administered some laudanum. Hopefully, it would relax his nerves for some time. "I understand, sir," Holmes continued in a soothing voice. "Yet I can't do anything without facts. I need your help. Calm down and tell me the whole story."

Landsbury raised his pale face to Holmes. "You are right. You're going to find her, aren't you?”

Holmes’ only answer was a small grin. We both grabbed a chair to sit close to our client. Miss Parker joined us, standing behind Landsbury’s chair.

“Tell us about the day Adèle disappeared."

"That day is etched in my memory. In the morning, I left to settle some business in the nearby small village of Great Yarmouth. I wanted to use the trip to buy something for Adèle too. It might not be a wise thing, but I love to spoil her. I wanted to find her a pony because she had just started riding lessons. I spent most of the day looking for the perfect pony. I returned in the late afternoon. The pony was a wonderful surprise for Adèle. She was so delighted.” While moved by the memory, he willed himself to continue his recollection. "All evening she was talking about the pony," Landsbury said. “She went to bed around eight, wishing us a good night. Jane took her to bed, like every night. It was not until the next day, around eight o'clock, that we realized that Adèle had disappeared. Her room had remained in the same state. Only an open window lets us predict the worst. No one had heard or seen anything. The police soon arrived on the scene. The journalists did not appear until a few days after the tragedy.”

The last sentence the father whispered in a bitter tone. Once more, he forced himself to calm.

“But Inspector Stanley found no leads. They only discovered that the kidnappers used the ladder to commit their crime. When he spoke of closing the case, I decided to call you to find my little girl."

"Why didn't you contact me before?"

"Because the police were so sure of themselves. Inspector Stanley assured me that a ransom would be demanded. And if I pay it, I would get my daughter back. This is quite usual in the United States. Yet, nothing happened. It was Jane and my old friend, Sir Robert Noberton, who advised me to bring you in."

"Since when did Miss Parker take care of Adèle?"

"Jane has been in my service for five years."

"So you trust Miss Parker?" Holmes inquired, indifferent to the feelings of the people in the room.

I saw Miss Parker's hand tighten on the back of the colonel's chair. When he answered, his eyes were shining for a split second. 

“Of course, Mr Holmes. I trust all my people."

"Good. May I see your daughter's room next?"

* * *

The young woman, Miss Jane Parker, accompanied us to Adèle’s room. Our client, too weak, remained seated in his chair by the fireplace.

The child’s room was filled with toys, small colourful wooden horses and delicate porcelain dolls. The walls were covered with small golden frames. The pictures showed rural scenes. Her bed was unmade. The comforter had been pushed back and the pillow moved. There was an imposing fireplace against a wall. Various knick-knacks hung on the mantle. 

Holmes entered the room and took a few steps on the thick carpet. With a gesture, he told us to remain put.

"Has this room been cleaned since the tragedy?"

"No, it was an order from Inspector Stanley."

Holmes began immediately the search for clues, armed with his magnifying glass. Under Miss Parker's curious gaze, the detective began to pace. He got on all fours, then he examined the bed. Afterwards, he opened the window. Lastly, he even jumped on the ledge despite the winter and the icy wind. 

“Indeed, someone used a ladder. Inspector Stanley got it right."

I didn't like it that Holmes was so dangerously close on the windowsill. However, instead of showing my concerns, I turned to Miss Parker. I bathed into her surprise at my partner’s methods. I couldn’t help but smile. It’s amazing: his way of observing and deducing.

"If there are any clues in this room, Holmes will find them," I assured her.

Up next, Holmes searched in the hearth. Finally, he closed the window again. The magnifying glass disappeared in a pocket. He came back to us. His cheeks were flushed from the cold.

"Adèle prefers chamomile or orange blossoms?"

“Orange blossoms. Why?"

Holmes smiled enigmatically. He turned to Adèle's bed. Here, he explained his line of reasoning: “Adèle spilt part of her herbal tea on her pillow. You can still see the yellowish trace. The smell has long since disappeared. Did she drink it every night?"

"Yes. Adèle liked herbal tea before going to sleep."

"Who prepared it?"

The tender smile that appeared on the lips of the young woman fainted at this question.

“Our cook, Emmy, but she's been with the colonel for years."

"I would like to meet her, please."

The confused governess took us to the kitchen. There, at the request of my companion, she left us alone.

“You are not very sympathetic to this unfortunate woman."

"Haven't you noticed, Watson, how much she doesn't help us?"

"What do you mean?"

Holmes smirked. He knocked on the kitchen door, but he refused to answer me.

* * *

We entered a fairly bright room, clean and neatly tidy. A pleasant smell of cake hung in the air. A lady in her eighties was busy baking scones. Tea time couldn't be that far away. There was a door at the back of the room leading undoubtedly into the garden, which must have been more practical for working in the vegetable patch. The cook turned to us, a broad smile on her lips.

"What do you want, gentlemen?"

"This is a pleasant smell that whets the appetite. Compliments, ma’am!"

Surprised by our intrusion, while flattered by the words of Holmes, the cook knew how to react. She ushered us to sit down. The soon served scones were still hot. 

"Since you seem to like treats, help yourself. But I still don't know who you are."

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my friend and partner, Dr Watson."

"Ha! You are the London detectives. Miss Parker told us about you. Are you going to find Adèle?"

"Miss Parker has faith in us," Holmes commented.

"She's a good person. Hard worker, she is always nice and smiling."

"Is she good to Adèle?"

"Not just with Adèle. She's nice to everyone. Everyone loves her a lot… except maybe Robert. But for Robert to love someone, it would take a miracle!" The friendly cook laughed. "But I chat, and maybe you have some questions for me? The police questioned me before but I didn't hear anything. I sleep upstairs, you see. And my bedroom is on the other side of the house. Besides, I'm a little deaf. Only a loud noise would wake me up." She smiled at this. Patiently, she waited for our questions.

"I'm only interested in your scones and herbal teas, ma'am."

"My herbal teas?"

"Your scones are excellent," Holmes said after mouthing one of them. "Adèle must have loved them."

"Of course, the little one loved them.” The old cook smiled, tenderly. "She sneaked up on me to get some. She wasn't allowed to eat sweets between meals. The colonel was quite strict."

"She ate it in the evening too? With her herbal tea?"

"No, the colonel would never have tolerated it. Adèle drank her herbal tea and then went to bed."

"Who brought her the tea?"

"Miss Parker. She was in charge of making the little one say her prayers. Then, Adèle drank her tea. It's a ritual her mother had introduced."

"Who prepared the herbal tea?"

"I took care of it. Then Miss Parker took the tray and took it to Adèle’s room. Sometimes, however, it was the maid, Mary-Ann, who was in charge."

"Who was in charge that night?"

"I'm not sure, but I think it was Miss Parker… You'll have to ask her…"

"Thank you for all your information, ma’am, as well as your scones. One last question, if you don't mind, which type of herbal tea?”

"Now, you mentioned it, Mr Holmes... It's odd. I'm not sure of it myself… However, I think it was herbal tea with orange blossoms and mint as it was her favourite…"

"Thank you."

We left the kitchen.

"A very fragrant herbal tea…" whispered Holmes. "Orange blossoms and mint, with lots of flavours and natural sweetness."

"What do you think?"

"The little girl was drugged before being kidnapped."

"How can you believe that?"

"A nine-year-old, a ladder, winter, no witnesses. The little girl did not struggle. She offered no resistance. Therefore, she was unconscious. The drugs have been put in his herbal tea, so they have an accomplice there. The case may be more complicated than expected."

"Miss Parker didn't tell us she brought Adèle the herbal tea. But I don't see her motif."

"Maybe, maybe not… ”

Holmes questioned the maid, Mary-Ann, for a few minutes alone. When he came back to me, he wore a small smile. 

“Rêves d’enfant, voix de la neige. Et vous, murs où la nuit tournait avec mon jeune ennui… Paul-Jean Toulet understood children well."

Without further explaining the meaning of this cryptic poem or offering a translation, Holmes left the house. I followed, baffled. 

Outside, we found Robert pulling a horse out of the stable. It was a beautiful beast, black and with powerful hocks, but quite jittery. Concerned, I observed how my companion approached the coachman. I didn’t like this manoeuvre one bit.

“Robert. What do you think of Miss Parker?”

"I have nothing to say on this subject."

"She told us that you did your job well, but that you were very talkative."

"What has she to say about it? She is only the governess. I have been employed at Crevecoeur Hall all my life.”

"You do not like her?"

"She's doing her job. I'm doing mine."

* * *

We left Crevecoeur Hall and went into town. In Norwich, Holmes wanted to meet Inspector Stanley. We found him at the police station. He was a sly-looking little inspector who reminded me of Scotland Yard's chief inspector, Lestrade. The arrival of the great detective did not please him.

"I had warned the colonel that it was useless to call you, Mr Holmes. The case is over."

"Have you found Adèle?" Holmes asked innocently.

"No one can, Mr Holmes. Adèle Landsbury is dead. She is buried somewhere in the countryside. Spring will take care of bringing her corpse to light. It has been snowing for days, so the traces of her abduction have been permanently erased."

"And the culprits?"

"Fled the scene. But we will catch them one day."

"What makes you so sure?" I could not help but ask.

"This is a gang that has engaged in child abduction with the ransom demand before. It is an American fashion which was exported to England. They will start over."

"An organized gang?"

"Yes, Mr Holmes. Do you think that because we are a small town, we do not have organized crime gangs?"

"I wouldn't allow myself to denigrate your region, Inspector. I'm just wondering about the capabilities of your gang. For their first attempt, they only managed to kill their prey without asking for ransom."

"They'll learn, then get cocky and then we will catch them. I have warned the big families of the region that they keep their children under surveillance."

"Is a panic to be expected?"

"No, Mr Holmes. However, I don't want to take any chances."

"You are quite right, Inspector. However, may I point out a little detail?"

"Of course, Mr Holmes. It will not be said that I refused to collaborate with you."

"Did you notice that that night a fire had burned in the fireplace in Adèle's bedroom?"

"So what? It's cold these days. It's not unusual to make a fire."

"Yes, but I wanted to draw your attention to a disturbing fact."

"Which is?"

"Nobody took care of lighting it. I wish you a good day."

Snowy roads greeted us outside. Soon, we were snowed up to the ankles. Holmes was unusually silent. All he offered were indistinct grunts. 

Suddenly, Holmes stopped.

Instead of explaining, he ordered me to go to Crevecoeur Hall alone. There, I should wait for his return. 

When I turned my head one the last time, I saw Sherlock Holmes disappearing into the white...

TBC


	2. The Complicated Life Of A Colonel

I returned to Crevecoeur Hall just in time to have tea with our client and Miss Parker. Both seemed devastated. Colonel Landsbury was munching on a few cucumber sandwiches, while Miss Parker was completely silent. I was starving but held back to not make a fool of myself. However, the young woman must have noticed my hunger because she ordered unprompted another round of sandwiches.

Giving her a grateful look, I observed her pale face. Only when the governess stood up, claiming a headache, the colonel shook out of his stupor.

"What's going on, Jane?"

"Nothing, Colonel. A simple migraine."

"Can I be of any help?" I asked eagerly.

"Don't worry, Dr Watson," she replied with a poor smile. "It is only the worries of these days, no doubt."

"Go, get some rest, Jane. I hope you’ll be well at dinner time."

"Very well. A rest will do me good."

And in a rustle of fabric, Miss Parker disappeared. I feared that the tea time was going to take an even more gloomy turn. To my surprise, the colonel got up and offered me a walk in the park.

* * *

Soon we were strolling through the garden. The cold was sharp. The ground was frozen and the trees bare. Everything gave an impression of eerie silence. Dead of winter...

"Have you lived in Crevecoeur Hall for a long time, Colonel?"

"The house has been in my family for ages. My father died here as well as my grandfather before him. I spent some years here as a young boy and settled down at Crevecoeur Hall after my return from India.” 

"Your father, Sir Henri Landsbury, was a brilliant officer, Colonel. He was still well remembered when I was stationed in India.”

Colonel Landsbury’s weary eyes flashed open in surprise.

"Did you serve in India, Dr Watson?"

"Yes, as a medical officer. I was stationed in Afghanistan."

"We did the same campaign then."

"I was wounded in the battle of Maiwand and was sent back to England."

"I suffered the same fate, Dr Watson. This war was absurd." I bristled but I did my utmost to keep my emotion under control. Our client was going through hard times. Surely, they were the cause of his bitterness. “It was a useless war, costing us far too many men, good and brave ones.”

Colonel Landsbury was now looking at me with interest. Slowly, he seemed to be coming back to life. Flicker things, emotions. 

Naturally, our discussion turned to Afghanistan and India. We talked about the nightly fighting in the deep valleys, the natives that we could not see and who appeared like ghosts in the camps at night,… and always we returned to the question whether it had been right to invade their countries.

Subconsciously, I started to quote Dickens, and the colonel echoed my words as if rereading  _ The Tale of Two Cities _ until you know the beginning by heart is a universal experience for British soldiers:

_ It was the best  _ _ of times, it was the worst of times,  _

_ it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,  _

_ it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,  _

_ it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness,  _

_ it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. _

During the walk, I have become almost a comrade, an absent brother-in-arms for the colonel, who cordially called me Watson. War could do that to men, memories bringing people together.

* * *

We were re-entering Crevecoeur Hall while continuing our conversation when a maid approached the colonel.

"Sir, I beg your pardon, but I must speak with you."

"Go ahead, Mary-Ann. I'm listening."

The little maid seemed embarrassed to speak in front of me. This struck me as odd, but I was ready to take my leave. However, the colonel, annoyed, forced her to speak. Her plea made the already strange situation even more peculiar.

“You should call for a doctor, sir."

"A doctor, you say? But why Mary-Ann?" 

"Miss Parker is taken ill, sir. She's the one sending me to you."

"I'm a doctor”, I said. “Maybe I can help?"

"Miss Parker would prefer her doctor, Dr Lewis."

"By this snow?" I continued, surprised by this reserve towards me. "Dr Lewis won't be here for a good hour. If Miss Parker isn’t opposed to it, I can take care of her."

"Miss Parker would prefer Dr Lewis," the maid repeated in a firm voice.

The insistence with which Mary-Ann asked for this Dr Lewis suddenly struck me as suspicious. What could Miss Parker have that required a particular doctor? A special illness?

"If Miss Parker needs a specialist," I continued, "I bow, but I can still take care of her until her doctor arrives."

My proposal seemed honest to me, but the maid made a displeased face. The colonel seemed confused. He didn’t seem to know what course to take either. 

Baffled, but stern he ordered: "Please, take a look at Miss Parker, Watson. I'll be waiting for you in the living room. Mary-Ann, show him to her bedroom."

"But, sir ..." the maid began. 

"Be quick! I’ll send Robert to fetch Dr Lewis. But I don't want to take any risk. Watson will take care of Jane, as he’s right: Dr Lewis won't be here for an hour."

He dismissed us. His tone admitted no reply. I was worried, was Miss Parker's illness so serious?

With a closed-off face, clearly annoyed, the maid Mary-Ann led me to Miss Parker's room. 

After knocking on the door, we entered. The housekeeper's room was simply decorated. It was a fairly small room. A few paintings depicting landscapes hung on the wall. A photograph of Adèle sat enthroned on the head of the fireplace. There were various bottles on a little table near the windows, containing perfumes or medicine.

Miss Parker, lying on the bed, observed my entrance with astonishment and concern. Her face turned livid. Harshly, she questioned Mary-Ann about my presence. I tried my best to reassure her by explaining that Dr Lewis was on his way. She gave a faint smile and waved me over. Mary-Ann remained by the door, watching my every move carefully.

"I'm sorry to cause you all this inconvenience, Doctor. The colonel shouldn't have bothered you with this nonsense.”

"Miss Parker, being sick is not stupid," I said, smiling.

"No, of course. But in my case..."

"How do you feel?"

"Not very well. But nothing serious, I can wait for Dr Lewis to arrive."

"Did you vomit, Miss Parker?” I pointed to a bowl near the bed. “It seems serious enough to me, doesn't it?"

Her pale head fell back on the cushions. Defeated, Miss Parker gave a small nod.

"Do you often have this kind of trouble?"

"For about a month..."

"Miss!" cried the maid out. 

"Leave it, Mary-Ann. Either way, sooner or later it will be known."

"What will be known, Miss Parker?" I asked gently, grabbing her hand to take the pulse.

"I'm almost two months pregnant."

"Congratulations, Miss Parker! This indeed explains your gastric troubles. Nothing to worry about in this case. Your legitimate concern over Adèle's disappearance has only made the inconvenience caused by your condition worse."

"There is something else, Dr Watson..." 

I will stop the rest of my conversation with Miss Parker at this point as it was far too intimate and surely of no interest for the reader. Let just say that the governess suffered from conditions more serious than vomiting and could lead to a miscarriage if a doctor did not stop it. I helped the young woman as best I could. Then Doctor Lewis arrived and took over, much to Miss Parkers’ relief.

Mary-Ann seemed relieved when I finally left the room. In the hallway, she held me back for a few moments.

“Excuse me, Dr Watson, but I have a small favour to ask you.”

I gave a small nod. If it was in my capacity to give I would concede Mary-Ann’s wish.

"Please, do not tell anyone what you know about Miss Parker’s condition."

"But why not? Giving birth is the most natural thing a woman can do on this earth."

"Yes, Dr Watson, of course, you are right. However, Miss Parker, as you must have noticed, has no husband or fiancé."

"God, it's true. Do you have any insight into the identity of the father?"

"Miss Parker is my friend. She would rather kill herself than to reveal the parentage. Please, Dr Watson, don’t tell anyone about the pregnancy."

"My lips are sealed, Mary-Ann. I promise you."

"Thank you, Dr Watson."

The little servant led me into the living room, where Landsbury was impatiently waiting. His face had turned pale and worried.

"How is she?"

"Nothing serious. Miss Parker suffers from a slight indisposition. Fatigue without a doubt."

"Thank you for reassuring me, Watson."

Indeed, Landsbury’s face looked reassured, as if Miss Parker's condition was precious to him. Curious...

We continued our conversation while sharing a good whiskey for the next couple of hours. 

* * *

It was around seven in the evening - dinner was soon to be served - when the sounds of horses and cartwheels echoed in the courtyard, followed by the doorbell ringing the front door. 

Landsbury, alarmed, waited expectantly for the visitor. A worn out and drenched Sherlock Holmes appeared in the living room, limping with his left foot. He came and sat down beside us, pouring himself a large glass of whiskey.

"Where the hell have you been, Holmes?" I cried out. "Are you injured?"

"Fortunately, there are still good souls in the area. The Winsterneys brought me back with a carriage."

"Did you go as far as the Winsterneys in this weather?” Landsbury uttered in surprise. “Now, I can understand why you are limping."

"Please, tell me that this tour gave you at least important information, Holmes?”

"The old count Henri de Questignac has remarkable stables. What do you know about his fortune?"

"Count Henri?" repeated Landsbury, surprised by this question. "I don't think that he is very wealthy, but he loves hunting with a passion. He shows ambition and talent when we hunt together. I imagine his stables reflect this wonderfully. All of his fortunes go into horses, dogs and weapons."

"And Arlington?" continued Holmes.

"Good people, but of modest income. We invite them from time to time to Crevecoeur Hall, but they are not of our social rank. Yet, they are very decent people."

"Poor?"

"They are well enough for commoners, as they own a farm that they have modernized. They recently acquired a steam engine and a pair of beautiful French workhorses."

"Do you know Wisterneys well?"

"They invite me regularly to their country party." Landsbury smiled condescendingly. "The Winsterneys have a higher rank, they are nobles."

"Closer to your rank?"

"And my habits. We meet from time to time, for hunting or receptions. Lovely people and old friends."

"With a carriage", I added, smiling myself. "Lucky for you Holmes!"

"With a carriage indeed… ”

These were the only explanations our client and I received for Holmes’ absence for now. 

* * *

My partner left the living room, claiming that he needed to change before dinner. To my surprise, he asked me to accompany him to treat him. He feared that he'd had a sprain and wanted a tight bandage. I followed him, concerned.

Once we reached the bedroom, Holmes sat on the bed. His features were tired. I scrambled to his left foot, but he waved me aside.

“Leave it, John. It's nothing."

"But you told me..."

"I have to speak to you in private, without prying eyes, old boy. This was just an excuse to withdraw you from the colonel’s company without raising suspicion.” 

"Holmes! What in God’s name is going on here?"

"The Winsterneys told me a few things about Colonel Landsbury and his entourage. Our client places his trust in a very questionable manner: The Winsterneys are suspicious of Miss Parker. She is flirtatious towards him. She appeared at Crevecoeur Hall shortly after Landsbury wife’s death and has managed to weave her web over the years to trap the colonel. She seems to have succeeded."

"Tales of jealousy. Your misogyny is causing you to lose your mind, Holmes."

"Do you know who will inherit this house and the colonel's fortune?"

Surprised by the question, I did not know what to say and took a few moments to ponder about it.

"No, I do not, Holmes. But I imagine the daughter, Adèle Landsbury, will inherit everything."

"But what happens if Adèle Landsbury disappears?"

"I don't know, Holmes."

"Miss Parker will inherit."

"A governess? What a funny idea! Do you have any proof for your claim, Holmes?"

Holmes made a face. Slowly, he took off his soaked shoes. His left ankle was slightly swollen.

"Holmes! Did you fall?"

"I'm a bit too old for this kind of walk in the wintery countryside. I slipped on a patch of ice hidden in the snow. I fear that I managed to sprain my ankle."

"It was foolish to leave the Winsterneys without treatment. Or to run off into the cold in the first place. Whatever have you been thinking, Holmes? You are no longer a young man!"

"Don’t let anyone else hear what you just said, John. You made it sound as if we are an old couple.”

My Holmes smiled, real and rare.

His remark made me smile too. To occupy my hands I hastened to examine his wound and bandage it carefully.

"So, your evidence?" I continued my enquiry. 

"Nothing concrete, I grant you that. Tomorrow I will pay a little visit to the colonel's lawyer, a  Mr  Arbucklehurt of Norwich, to clarify the situation."

"How can the Winsterneys know the content of the colonel's will?"

"Count Winsterney told me that he served as a witness for the making of the will. As the little heiress, Adèle Landsbury is a minor, Winsterney has been chosen as guardian in case her father, Colonel Landsbury, dies too soon. Count Winsterney is Adèle’s godfather."

"So, Miss Parker is going to inherit everything..."

"Indeed, my dear Watson. We’ll have to do more research. As you said, it could just be local gossip. But now you understand why I had to talk with you as soon as possible. We are going to have to watch Miss Parker's actions carefully. She might be the only person who could know where Adèle is being held prisoner if she is still alive of course."

First, I did not want to believe such an idea. Then, I remembered Holmes’ lines of never theorize before one has all data. However, when I analyzed what I had observed during the day, I could maybe formulate a hypothesis. After all, I had witnessed the eager and anxious way towards Miss Parker’s condition. So, maybe, my partner was not that far from the truth.

“Holmes, you may well be right."

My partner looked quite surprised. "You no longer cry out violently against my misogyny?"

"Miss Parker is pregnant! She will be getting married soon and certainly with the master of the house himself."

"How do you know that?"

In a few words, I told him about the afternoon's events but my partner remained doubtful.

"Do you think Miss Parker is pregnant from Landsbury? Are you not going too fast?"

"I'm sure, Holmes. You don't know women well enough, my dear."

"What do you mean?" Holmes said with pursed lips.

"The father of the child is the colonel himself. He is so in love with her that he will marry her. But from there to conclude that it was the young woman who set up a plot against Landsbury for this purpose and that she eliminated Adèle to inherit... I do not believe it!"

"There, my dear Watson, you surprise me. You managed to observe it all in one afternoon", Holmes smirked.

"Study them tonight. Observe Landsbury’s caring manners and Miss Parker’s gentle gestures and if you are not blind, my dear Holmes, we’ll talk about it again tonight."

* * *

I left Sherlock Holmes smothered in indignation after my last line and joined Landsbury in the living room. 

Could my partner be right? Was this magnificent young woman a formidable schemer? Or was she nothing more than an unfortunate victim of the backbiting of others? 

Deep in thoughts, I entered the room where the dining table had been set. Landsbury was alone, staring into the flames, lost in contemplation. Spotting him, a memory prompted me to ask him: “Your home has beautiful fireplaces. It must take time and work to light them."

"It is the job of one of my servants, the loyal Robert.”

"The coachman?"

"Robert has several duties in and around the house. I prefer not to have too many entourage, so I only hired a servant, a cook, a coachman and a governess. It’s enough for me. Crevecoeur Hall is no palace.”

I dared to push my questioning further despite my host's closed-off face: "Could it be that Robert forgets to take care of a fireplace?

"Certainly not. I will never tolerate it. Do you have a complaint about the fireplace in your room?"

"No, not at all. All is fine," I smiled placidly. "I just wondered. It cannot be an easy task to light up all the fireplaces in such a big house, as well as look after the grate later. Could it not be possible to overlook something?”

"That's a queer line of enquiry, Watson. If this worries you so much, I can assure you that there is always a small reserve of wood stored in each of the rooms. Then all you have to do is to use the right tools and to have the knack to light your fire. It’s not that difficult. But I hope you don't have to trouble yourself, otherwise, Robert will have to answer me. He is responsible for this work. "

I could feel our client's anger growing. Landsbury must have been convinced that his servant had failed in his task. I didn't know how to talk him out of it.

"Does your daughter know how to light up her fireplace?"

"Adèle!" Landsbury exclaimed, more and more alarmed by my questions. "Thank God, no. She is only nine years old. I have strictly forbidden her to attempt to light a fire in her fireplace on her own. She's too young. Jane is there to watch her and reprimand her for disobedience."

"So Adèle wouldn't be able to."

"Of course. You have some funny ideas about how to raise children, Watson. Do you have children of your own?”

"No, my wife died before she could give me some."

"I am sorry, Watson. Having children is one of the most beautiful things in the world.”

The conversation turned to little Adèle. To my great relief, Landsbury’s anger subsided. Perhaps, I mused to myself, was the mysterious fire lit in Adèle’s fireplace during the night of her disappearance an important lead...

Finally, Sherlock Holmes entered the room. His face was dark and his foot lame. Landsbury rushed to find him a chair and inquire about his well being, but Holmes casually dismissed his worried questions.

"I don't have a lead yet, sir. You must give me time. Remember that our investigation just started yet.”

"I know, Mr Holmes. But I have so much hope..."

"Keep hoping, but let me conduct my investigation as I see fit, sir. I'll let you know if there is news."

"Very well”, sighed the colonel.

Our conversation was interrupted by the dinner being served. The food smelled delicious. Startled, I realised that I was indeed starving. I inhaled the meal with gusto. My partner smiled at me warmly. Holmes was a picky eater, but he loved to watch me indulge. Miss Parker joined us, her face more colourful. Holmes and I shared a knowing look, him acknowledging what I have noticed prior, secretly proud. 

Feeling validated, I began to observe the governess. 

Miss Parker had changed and was now wearing a light green dress. She had changed and was now wearing a light green dress. Her hair was pulled up into an elegant bun. A thin golden pendant shone on her chest. She was charming, one might even call her pretty. Her pregnancy was not yet visible.

When Miss Parker approached the table, Landsbury rushed to pull out a chair for her. Whenever their gazes met, she smiled at him, which he returned promptly. I turned to Holmes and gave him a pointed look. It was rather obvious that those two were lovers! It pleased me to outwit my partner’s character analysis for once.

With growing surprise and suspicion, I saw Holmes initiate and maintain a conversation. He mentioned the surrounding countryside, so beautiful and peaceful compared to London, but also quiet and lacking real entertainment. Soon he caught the interest of Miss Parker. It didn’t take long and the two were chatting like two friends about shopping, fashion and the latest shows. The young woman seemed to know London quite well, she spoke with clear excitement about its concert halls.

Landsbury, somewhat brooding at first, spurred into action when Holmes suddenly switched topics and turned to the army and the British Empire. I tried to figure out what Holmes was trying to achieve by this charade. This all wasn’t like him. Landsbury was agitated, hammering his ideas with vigour. Miss Parker seemed as puzzled by this situation as I was. Yet she could smile at him reassuringly and touch his arm to calm him down. I couldn’t dare to even dream of reaching out to my partner.

It got worse when Landsbury coaxed out my opinion in this debate. 

“What about you, Watson? I, personally, don't like war. I have suffered enough and lost a lot. Friends, family... "

Landsbury was agitated, emotions and memories getting the better of him. He got up quickly, his eyes flashing anger at my companion.

Miss Parker, sitting beside the Colonel, but one of her hands on his arm, in a gesture of reassurance. “Dear, go rest. Remember what Dr Lewis told you."

"You're right, Jane. I’m just a fool to get on my nerves like this. Forgive me Mr Holmes, but military matters still fascinate me too much."

"I apologize, Colonel Landsbury. It was not wise to start the debate on this subject." 

* * *

The evening’s ending was rather anticlimactic, ending with few customary banalities and good night wishes. Soon we were on our own again.

We rearranged two chairs in front of the fireplace, mirroring Baker Street. I got two glasses of good Whiskey for us, while Holmes acquired his pipe.

"What do you make of it, Watson?"

"It’s all rather odd, Holmes. Yet, I didn’t quite understand what you were aiming for. I got the impression that you wanted to anger our client?”

"Exactly, Watson. It wasn’t easy. I had to use my imagination. Even my cooing around Miss Parker failed to make him flinch. I may be a little too old for this kind of play, John."

"So you meant to upset him? Why?"

"I think my ankle is still swelling, my dear Watson. I'll take the bandage off and try to live without it tonight."

"Holmes!"

"Maybe a simple ointment and a piece of cloth will do? The bandage is too tight."

"HOLMES!"

"You will allow me to borrow your doctor's kit tonight, Watson. I wish you a good sleep. "

Claiming to be deaf to my questions, Holmes got up and left the room. 

I followed him, quite irritated. 

Holmes stopped outside the bedroom door, turned to me and whispered curtly, looking annoyed and a bit angry: “You were right, John. Colonel Landsbury loves Miss Parker. He did not appreciate my worldly ways towards his fiancée and was glad to damn me the pawn on military matters." I was about to say something drastic when Holmes continued: "But I don't know if she loves him!"

When the door closed behind us for some stolen hours, I wasn’t all that unhappy with myself.

  
TBC  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, the story contained some military talk between Colonel Landsbury and Captain John H. Watson. However, the content would be a bit not good for modern readers as it perpetuated stereotypes. I pondered long if I should simply warn for it, but in the end, I decided to cut it out and substitute it with the Dickens quote: 
> 
> It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,   
> it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,   
> it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,   
> it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness,   
> it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.
> 
> The author, LadySybille, gave me full reign over the story. We both want to bring it to a new generation, and we need some ghosts to rest. Endless gratitude to her because that's not an easy thing to do. Merci beaucoup <3


	3. A Crow Starts To Crow

“No, Mr Holmes! Certainly not."

"I ask you to reconsider the question, Mr Arbucklehurt."

"I don’t need to reconsider, Mr Holmes. This line of inquiry is out of the question." The face of the little lawyer, Mr Arbucklehurt, was closed-off, particularly contemptuous of my friend and me.

“Please understand our position, please."

"Certainly not, Mr Holmes," he repeated. "I know your reputation. You like sticking your nose into people's private affairs. Colonel Lansbury's will is none of your business."

"Maybe, maybe not as the will can provide me with valuable clues for my investigation and thus find Colonel Landsbury's daughter."

"I do not see how this document of private interest can serve you to capture a criminal, Mr Holmes. Now please leave, gentlemen. I have work to do." 

With a smug look, Mr Arbucklehurt gestured to the door. I saw my companion’s cheekbones flush with cold, barely contained anger.

"Colonel Landsbury asked me to find his daughter at all costs. I feel obliged to tell him how you contributed to this search."

"Perhaps you think you are scaring me, Mr Holmes?" asked the lawyer mockingly. "I have been handling the interests of the Landsbury family for a long time. I know the Colonel well. He is a friend."

"As a friend of the family, you certainly understand that I need to know the contents of Colonel Landsbury’s will."

"Nice try, Mr Holmes, but you won't hear anything from me."

Tired of running up against that wall of arrogance, Holmes stood up and bade me follow him. “Well, Mr Arbucklehurt, we are not going to waste your time any longer. I wish you a good day. Come along, Watson."

As we were about to leave his office, the little lawyer had perhaps a gasp of remorse, he called Holmes back. "I cannot help you, Mr Holmes. I want to but my ethics forbid me. Please, understand me?"

"Certainly, Mr Arbucklehurt."

"It’s impossible for me to tell you the contents of Colonel Landsbury’s last will. It was he who specifically asked me not to. Speak to him."

"The _last_ will?" I asked in surprise.

"Indeed, Dr Watson. Colonel Landsbury made three wills during his life. That is all I can tell you, as this information will not reveal anything of its content. "

Holmes walked over to Mr Arbucklehurt’s desk. He put both hands on the back of an armchair. “Three wills? This is amazing."

"Not so much when you know about Colonel Landsbury's private life. There was a first will made a few years before his marriage. The second was written down at the birth of Adèle. And the third was done four months ago."

"Four months ago?"

"Yes, Mr Holmes. And now I have told you everything that my professional conscience has allowed me to tell you. I can't do anything more for you, gentlemen."

"You've been very helpful to me, Mr Arbucklehurt."

"I hope so, and, please, remember to inform Colonel Landsbury about my forthcoming."

"I won't miss to mention it, Mr Arbucklehurt." 

Now it was Holmes who smirked.

* * *

When we left Mr Arbucklehurt’s office, our nerves were badly worn. 

In particular, Holmes was not so silently fuming with anger: "What an imbecile! And this lawyer dares to ask me to send his regards to Colonel Landsbury. That peacock might even hope to get praised", Holmes whispered huskily. "Yet his obtuse mind has been very useful to us all the same."

"I don't see how that conversation can help our investigation."

"The benefactor of the last will is easy to determine. Without a doubt, it is dear Miss Parker. For the second will, since it was made after Adèle was born, it can only be about the latter and her mother. I do not see who can be mentioned in the first testament… I do not know enough about the personal life of our client."

"Maybe a brother? Or a nephew?"

"We just have to find the best place to collect the information we lack. A good glass of whiskey in a pub would not be refused in bad weather."

"But why not ask Landsbury directly? I don’t understand all these mysteries, Holmes. It’s about finding the colonel’s daughter and you seem to refuse to question Miss Parker."

"Do you know Watson why the fire was lit in Adèle’s room the night she disappeared?" Holmes asked bluntly.

"No. It was cold?"

"They seemed to burn a document in the fireplace. A thick document. Like a book..."

"Or a diary?"

Holmes smiled triumphantly. “You are making progress every day, my dear Watson!”

"Adèle Landsbury is nine, Holmes. Isn't she a bit young to write a diary?"

"I'm not very familiar with all these kinds of things, but why not?" My partner didn't know much about children, indeed, except for his Baker Street Irregulars. Family matters and the fairer sex were his blind spot. "Let’s assume, Watson, that this is indeed a diary. The fire, unfortunately, did its job too well, as there was only a nice heap of ash left, fragments of the thick blanket, but nothing usable. Now the question that arises is: who burned the diary on the evening of Adèle’s kidnapping?"

"Couldn't it be Adèle herself?"

"Watson! I told you that Adèle was drugged the night she was kidnapped. She was quite incapable of burning anything."

"I forgot that detail! Our criminal indeed has an accomplice at the mansion."

"And I could see a young blonde woman with blue eyes in the role."

"You are impossible, Holmes."

And my companion laughed as we pushed open the door of a pub called _The Scottish Boy._

* * *

Glasses followed glasses, questions followed questions. Holmes gained the pub owner’s confidence without any difficulty, posing as a reporter investigating the abduction of Adèle. The pub owner seemed delighted to be interviewed. After a bit of small talk about the village and the terrible weather, Holmes got to the heart of the matter.

"What about the Landsbury case?"

"Are you going to quote me in your newspaper?"

"Of course, good man. Unless you don't want to. Our newspaper accepts anonymous statements too."

"The colonel still has a bad temper. I will not like to anger…"

"Do not worry! Anonymous tip it is. So this governess?"

"Miss Parker is not from the area. I'm not sure where the colonel found her..."

"How is she?"

"I thought she was a good woman, but there are rumours that she will soon marry the colonel. He is a good catch. That was probably her intention all along. It was reported before."

"In the newspaper?"

"A competitor of yours, I imagine. He was quicker than you at sniffing out the woman’s true motives."

The innkeeper smirked amusedly, not thinking about harm.

"Are we fine about speaking about Miss Parker in the newspaper?"

"I imagine it has to be done. Someone has to say something, surely. People have to be warned against this kind of… _creature_."

"That kind of creature! You don't like Miss Parker, I see."

"She deceived everyone and I find that unacceptable."

"We have to put her in jail. These women don't deserve to live," yelled a fat waitress, a tray covered with empty beer glasses in her hand.

"Shut up, Mary. We didn’t ring the bell."

"I'm not afraid to say out loud what everyone says quietly. I hope this guy will keep his word."

"This guy?" I asked, surprised.

Holmes nudged me. These stories did not interest him, he wanted something concrete.

"What about the colonel's daughter?"

"A very nice little child. I don't know what else to tell you. Quite pretentious perhaps..."

"What about the rest of the household?"

"Locals, all decent people. For me, the case is clear. It can only be the governess. The culprit cannot be from around here. So, Miss Parker needs to be sent to the gallows. Quite easy case, if you ask me.”

"Ha! You see that's what I was saying," retorted the woman who was serving drinks to the few customers at the table. "You have to take this trail. She must be Irish, and when you know the Irish, you are no longer surprised."

My blood only swirled, there were Irish in my family. “Madam, please."

"I say what I think, if you don't like it, look elsewhere."

"Mary shut it. Excuse her, gentlemen, but Mary’s first husband was Irish and he cowardly abandoned her."

The woman resumed her work, grumbling, not without letting an ear hang out on our side.

"Does the colonel still have family from his brother’s side?" I asked, thinking of what the colonel had to say during the walk in the park.

"There was a nephew, but they haven't spoken to each other for a long time. Mary! Do you know what became of the colonel's nephew? "

Very happy, the waitress came back to us, abandoning with joy her thankless task.

“Michael Landsbury? Bad egg. The Colonel was tired of paying off his gambling debts. But it’s an old story. Michael left for America six or seven years ago."

"A prodigal nephew? Could he come back?"

"That would surprise me, sir. He and the colonel hate each other. The cook told me that they had cursed each other heavily and that the youngster swore never to come back, even with his feet in front. The colonel replied that he was very happy." 

The waitress was quite happy to tell her gossip, relishing each word with delight.

“Adèle was very young at the time. Could she remember Michael Landsbury?"

"I do not know, sir. "

Holmes snapped shut the little notebook in which he had taken notes during the interrogation.

"Well, we won't bother you any longer. Thanks for your help."

We stepped outside _The Scottish Boy._ I happily breathed in the clean, cool air outside.

“A missing nephew. Why not?"

"You no longer believe the inheritance-seeking femme fatale thesis?" I asked sarcastically.

"All hypotheses must be studied. Even your angels can be true."

"I am still surprised to see such hatred towards Miss Parker. The newspapers couldn’t have been kind to her when Adèle Landsbury disappeared. But she seems to be such a pretty, charming young woman."

"Who has succeeded in having a child made by a very quiet man and a lord, moreover. Charming indeed, my dear Watson."

We went to a concert.

* * *

Returning to Crevecoeur Hall hours later, our spirits were high. My Holmes was in a good mood, and I was smiling. However, we stopped in our tracks, brought back to reality in mere seconds. 

The police were present and Inspector Stanley appeared to be in command of an occupying army. His soldiers searched everywhere, some respected the thickets with attention. My heart ached when I saw these occupations, could it be that the inspector had discovered something? Was Adèle’s body ... As soon as he saw us, the Inspector joined us. His steps were wide and quick, indicating a strong exasperation.

“You could have told me, Mr Holmes! I expected a low blow from you, but it is beyond comprehension. Believe me, I'll send a detailed report to Scotland Yard."

"Excuse me?" Holmes asked with unmistakable astonishment.

"Don't look surprised. Anyway, the colonel asked me to kick you out as soon as you both returned from the village. He doesn't want you here anymore. Your trunks are already in the carriage."

"Would you be so kind as to explain to me what's going on?"

"You are an abject being, sir, and I do not apologise for using such a crude term. Go."

The inspector turned on his heels contemptuously and joined his men. Holmes' patience was at an end and his astonishment passed, he reacted violently to these gratuitous insults. He caught up with the inspector in a few strides and grabbed him by the shoulder. The two men looked at each other, I feared for a moment that they would come to blows. The constables had stopped all work and observed us in amazement.

“I demand you speak, Inspector. Explain the reason for your anger."

In response, the inspector reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a newspaper. He handed it to the detective with a dismissive gesture.

“Do you recognize your work? "

Holmes read an article circled in red and his eyebrows rose in amazement.

“I never wrote that. When was this published?

"This morning," the inspector snapped. "You understand that these may be the ways of the big city, but here it is out of the question that I let you do so. You don't think about the consequences, about the scandal that your actions generate."

"Where is Miss Parker?"

"In custody. I would have refused to imprison her, but I had to because of the impact your writings have had on the locals. I'm going to need something other than your ranting, Holmes."

Holmes was hit by the blow, even though it went unobserved by the inspector. We hurried to read the article together. It was from _The Daily Telegraph_ , a serious newspaper. The reporter was Roy Robson.

> **Deductions and confidences**
> 
> Mr Sherlock Holmes has just arrived in Norwich, and the case is already closed. In the detective's own words: it didn't take him long to figure out what was going on at Crevecoeur Hall. 
> 
> The young and elegant housekeeper, Miss Jane Parker, is not innocent in this matter. Mr Holmes assured us that Miss Parker is not who she said she is. During his research, Mr Holmes discovered that her real name is Jane Nordon, wife of Paul Nordon, a notary clerk. This woman is said to have entered Colonel Landsbury's service for the sole purpose of marrying him. Besides, isn't she pregnant and on the way to officially becoming the new Lady Landsbury? Adèle’s disappearance would come at the right time for this schemer. 
> 
> Mr Holmes has also emphatically stated that he will do everything to end this scandal. 
> 
> We can take his word for it because the reputation of Mr Sherlock Holmes is well established.

My friend would never have said that he never would have met journalists to talk about an ongoing investigation, especially to expose a web of lies. Suddenly, I understood the attitude of the lawyer, Mr Albucklhurt. He must have found that Holmes was not lacking in daring to question him after such revelations in the press that morning.

The detective kept a closed face.

“I know that we have our differences, Inspector. However, you have to take my word that I have nothing to do with this article. I haven’t met with any journalists.”

"And what do you think happened then?"

"The answer to that question would move this investigation a lot further," Holmes answered.

"What are your next plans, Inspector?" I asked.

"My men are searching for the entire perimeter. Maybe they will find something we missed the first time around..."

"May I speak to Miss Parker?" 

"The colonel is not going to like it, but I will allow it, Mr Holmes." It was almost as good as an apology, and I know that Holmes preferred this white flag over some shallow small talk. 

I followed my companion inside. We entered a room in which two policemen were looking over the young governess. The latter came rushing to us when she spotted us. She wrung her hands in despair.

"I understand, Mr Holmes, your anger towards me, but you shouldn't have given the interview with the Daily Telegraph. I have nothing to do with Adèle’s abduction.”

"How is my anger understandable?" Holmes asked in surprise.

"I am not an honest woman, but I am sincere in my love for the colonel. And I love Adèle."

She sat down in an armchair, her eyes filled with tears. Holmes wanted to come over to question her when the door was banged open. Inspector Stanley walked in, his eyes shining with anger.

“Mrs Nordon. You will follow us. I'm arresting you for the kidnapping and murder of young Adèle Lansbury. The maid will send you a trunk with some clothes."

A shrill cry responded to these dry words.

"But that is not possible. I am innocent."

"Do you deny that your name was Mrs Jane Nordon?"

The young woman lowered her head, ashamed, defeated and in a small voice, she nodded.

“No, I don't deny it."

"Do you deny that this belongs to you?"

And the inspector shows off a shiny little bottle. The young woman shook her head, not knowing what to say. For my part, I immediately recognized a vial resembling the others present in his room.

"I have a lot of vials like this. What is that?"

"Morphine. You used it to drug Adèle the night of her kidnapping. You were the one who brought Adèle the herbal tea that night."

"But this is not true. I've never had morphine."

"Do you deny that you are pregnant with the colonel?"

"I do not deny it. But I am innocent."

"Do you deny that you were going to marry him?"

"No, but I didn’t take Adèle. I AM INNOCENT."

"We will talk about it at the police station. Forward."

“Mr Holmes, please. Mr HOLMES!"

My companion hadn't moved, coldly observing the scene. The two policemen seized the young woman, who had not struggled. And Miss Parker… well Mrs Nordon… disappeared in a carriage, still claiming to be innocent.

* * *

A few minutes passed in total silence. The police had disappeared. Only the marks of their shoes on the floor remained. Holmes finally shook out of his stupor and we left the room. 

At the front door of Crevecoeur Hall, we met our client. His eyes were fixed on the horizon. As we passed him, an impersonal voice echoed.

“You could have told me."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"It will be hard to forget this scandal."

"Yes, sir. "

The colonel's eyes, downcast, rested on the detective. If Lansbury had been angry with Holmes, all anger was gone, giving way to deep bitterness.

“Is Jane guilty?"

"I'm afraid she lied to you."

"I'm speaking about Adèle."

"I don't know yet, sir."

"I hope you were wrong. I loved her, Mr Holmes."

Our client disappeared into the depths of the house, falling into the most complete silence. A real tomb.

“First of all, my dear Watson, I have to find out who used my name to leak those pieces of information to _The Daily Telegraph_. Who played the role of the crow, John?”

When Holmes had completed the search of the area, he returned to London. He believed that part of the solution to this case would lay in London. So he left me and urged me to watch over our client carefully.

I did not understand until too late that Holmes’ few words were prophetic…

_And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor_

_Shall be lifted—nevermore!_

TBC

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the end is from the poem "The Raven" (1845) by Edgar Allan Poe. I added it for my translation as I believe it to be fitting for the atmosphere in this chapter. Also, the ending of the poem is quite foreshadowing...


	4. Someone Makes A Big Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to chapter 4 of "The Disappearance of Adèle Landsbury"!
> 
> Fair warning: it's getting grim from this point onwards. Check the added tags and warning! I promise: NO major character death, but in chapter 4 we'll get the first death. We're leaving the cozy crime territory and entering the thriller genre. 
> 
> Thanks once more to LadySybille for the permission to translate her truly stunning prose.
> 
> Ade

Landsbury was in an even darker mood than usual. The house seemed dead. Inspector Stanley had decided to tolerate my presence for now. So Landsbury and I were sitting in the chairs in the living room, in front of the slowly dying out fire, in silence. Just before I could ask Landsbury if we could switch places, he asked with an unnatural thin voice.

"Do you think she's really to blame, Watson?"

"I don't know, Landsbury."

"In any case, she's a schemer. Jane never told me about her husband."

"How did you hire her?"

"I ran an ad in the papers. She introduced herself and I accepted her."

"Did she have any references?"

"I… I don't know."

"What do you mean?” The colonel seemed to delve into his memory for a moment, desperately trying to recall old, far off things. “Mary-Ann had to take care of checking her references. "

Seized by doubt, the colonel stood up and rang the bell.

The young maid, Mary-Ann, came in, her eyes sad and compassionate. "Would you like a cup of tea, sir? You haven't eaten yet and ..."

"Do you have the references for Miss Par… Mrs Nordon?"

"The references?"

"Yes, when you hire a servant, you read their references, Mary-Ann," I explained, sensing Landsbury’s emotional state and his, therefore, unwillingness to elaborate. "Where are they?"

"But I don't have them."

"What do you say?"

The poor little one seemed stunned. "It was you, Colonel Landsbury, who insisted on studying her references. You kept them, didn't you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, Sir. The day she arrived, you wanted to examine her references and then, satisfied, you hired her on the spot."

The colonel looked dumbfounded. The worries, as well as the lack of rest, had dangerously reduced our client’s faculties: he couldn’t remember. 

Landsbury thanked Mary-Ann and begged her to leave. She hurried away but not before giving me a worried look. I observed my sort of brother-in-arm with doctorly concern. Surely, a much-needed rest was in order. The best outcome would be his daughter as well as the business with the governess solved as soon as possible. However, being the partner of Sherlock Holmes for years now, I know that patience is a virtue. 

"I do not remember." Landsbury sounded forlorn, heartbroken.

"It's normal. You have other concerns on your mind", I tried to placate him.

"Did she only have references?"

Landsbury The colonel got up like a madman and ran into his office. Fearing some misfortune, I followed him. But Landsbury only wanted to find Ms Nordon's references. He began frantically rummaging through the files neatly stored in his desk drawers. He threw them on the floor, reminding me of Holmes in his relentlessness to find the information hidden in his documents. Soon the room looked like the Stock Exchange after a session with the floor littered with papers. The colonel sat down in a large, padded armchair, overwhelmed.

“There are simply no references, Watson. She's been playing with me from the start. So _The Daily Telegraph_ was right. From the start, she wanted to circumvent me to marry me."

"She screamed that she loved you, Landsbury. She told Sherlock Holmes before the police arrested her."

"She kept the truth from me. She read the ad and came over. She played the flirtatious woman, hoping to marry me and obtain the inheritance."

"Landsbury, those are severe accusations. Wait before drawing such bitter conclusions and..."

"Jane lied when she said she loved me. What about this child? Who knows if that's not a lie too? Is it my child?"

"Landsbury", I started.

"What about Adèle? Holmes claimed she knew nothing, but _The Daily Telegraph_ already condemns her. It's so simple, Adèle disappears and Jane inherits. Why did I write this new will? I'm a fool for being fooled like this..."

"Calm down!"

"Can she even inherit under a false name? How to be sure? I should ask Albucklhurt. The whore, she has to pay."

"Wait until she is found guilty before doing anything drastic..."

I don't like the tone Landsbury used, harsh and vile. He seemed ready to end it all. I was partly grateful that Mrs Nordon was not present. Who knows what Landsbury would have said or even done to her in such a state of fury? Finally, Colonel Lansbury rose, his gaze fierce, determined to act. He approached the door. Before leaving, he said to me: "Either way, I will disinherit her. "

And he disappeared.

I couldn't follow him because Landsbury’s business was none of mine. How could I have asked our client for permission to accompany him? So I returned to the living room, facing the died out fireplace. I waited. 

Several hours passed. Mary-Ann, a good compassionate soul, brought me some hot coffee and sandwiches, prepared by the cook. At my request, the fire was lit. Time passed slowlier still. 

When Landsbury reappeared, he was as cold and determined as before. He sat down across from me.

"It is done?" I dared to ask.

"Mrs Nordon will not inherit from me. Arbuckle Hurt was adamant. No loophole in the will allow her... to inherit. My fortune will go to Adèle when Sherlock Holmes finds her."

"And if…"

"And if the opposite happens my nephew will be very happy to receive my fortune to settle his gambling debts. Crevecoeur Hall will remain in the hand of Landsbury."

"Your nephew?”

"He is a good-for-nothing, but he is a Landsbury. That's right, a Landsbury in Crevecoeur Hall..."

The meal was soon served but the colonel declined. He left the table to go to his room. A little rest could only do him good, so I was not unhappy with this.

* * *

The night was tense. 

Inspector Stanley sent for me around ten o'clock. Mrs Nordon wanted to speak to Sherlock Holmes and to placate her, the inspector finally agreed. But Holmes not being there, I went to Norwich Police Station alone. I picked up my doctor's kit on the off-chance, fearing that the unfortunate young woman must be in a state, critical in her condition. The inspector's first words only heightened my concerns.

“Mrs Nordon is going crazy. I urge you to do something, doctor." Stanley sounded agitated at this turn of events, perhaps a little ashamed too. He was tired, clearly visible from the dark circles under his eyes. How long had he been at his post? “She's been screaming for hours that she's innocent. She refuses to answer my questions. She just throws up. I believe she will end up in the asylum. Insanity could be one of the mitigating circumstances for the murder of the girl."

"Did she confess?"

"Only what you already know. She is indeed Mrs Jane Nordon, she left her husband Paul Nordon five years ago. He beat her fiercely and was sickly jealous. She was afraid of dying one day by his hand. She had notified the police after she was finished at the hospital, but the police never took charge of this matter. Mrs Nordon, therefore, left her husband. The advertisement for the governess’ position, so far from London, seemed to be heaven-sent at the time."

"How was she hired?"

"By Colonel Landsbury, I suppose."

"You do not know?" I inquired in amazement.

"We're trying to get hold of her husband," he snapped. "We must also verify her statements. What is your friend, Mr Holmes, doing? His presence would have been very helpful to us, now, that there is real research to be undertaken and not rambling to peddle.”

I winced at the insult on Holmes’ behalf but picked up the thread of the conversation. "And Adèle?"

"No news as of yet. However, I will make this woman confess, mark my words, Doctor Watson. Surely, she has buried the child’s body not far from the house.”

"Do you have any proof for your accusation, Inspector?”

"The bottle seems pretty meaningful to me."

"Anyone could have put it there."

"The drawer had been locked. The bottle was one of Mrs Nordon’s.”

"Maybe someone was able to make a duplicate."

"You have too much imagination, Doctor Watson. I'm a simple person, I know criminals and Mrs Nordon is one, without a doubt. The fact that she entered Colonel Landsbury's service under a false name already seems sufficient to me. I'm just waiting for his confession to take the case to the judge."

"But…"

"That's enough, doctor. Go see her and give her laudanum or something else to soothe her mind. If you could encourage her to confess, that would be even more helpful to us all, her included. Her lawyer is trying to reason with her as we speak, but she has remained stubborn so far.”

I followed a policeman who led me down a fairly long and narrow corridor. 

Norwich being a small town, it only had one police station and itself only one cell. Usually, this cell only locked up drunkards, not a young woman accused of the abduction of a child and possible murder. 

Mrs Nordon had been hoping for Sherlock Holmes, showing visible disappointment at my arrival. Her once beautiful face had taken on an ash tint, but her eyes seemed lit with a mad fever. An old man was standing near her. 

He got up when I approached and introduced himself: “Master Cavendish. You must be Mr Sherlock Holmes?

"No, I'm Doctor Watson."

"A doctor? This is great news. You will be able to help Mrs Nordon, she is very ill."

"I don't need a doctor, I need Mr Holmes," she yelled in a shrill voice.

"You can confirm, Doctor Watson, that my client is in a nervous state. She’s almost hysterical, yet there is an urgent need to discuss the pressing matters calmly.”

"I don't want to discuss, I want to be released. I am innocent." Mrs Nordon wrung her hands ardently. Nervous, tired, she seemed to be going mad indeed. I made her sit on the mattress in the small room and quickly examined her.

"You hurt yourself and it's not good for the child," I scolded her gently.

"What does it matter to me if the child lives or dies, now, that the father believes me capable of murdering his other child?”

"You mean Colonel Landsbury?" asked Master Cavendish awkwardly.

"Of course, Mr Cavendish. I’m not an easy woman, no matter what the newspapers claim!”

She burst into tears. Her shoulder shaking with convulsions. The young woman was hysterical, I concluded. She would drive herself mad when she continued this path. At least, in that regard, I had to agree with Inspector Stanley. Hurriedly, I gave her laudanum and urged her to lie down on the mattress.

Mrs Nordon gave me a haunted look, looking more a ghost and less than a living soul with every shuddering breath. 

"You saw him, Doctor. How is he?"

"You must rest, Mrs Nordon. I beg you."

"What did he tell you?"

She squeezed my hand, resembling more a death grip.

“Colonel Landsbury disinherited you."

"My God." All power drained out of her body, she returned to uncontrolled sobbing. “So he believes me guilty. He doesn't trust me anymore."

"Why didn't you tell him who you were?"

"He wouldn't have married me. My husband is still alive."

"But you have committed a serious mistake in keeping silent," cried the lawyer.

"I know it. But I was so afraid of losing him..." 

Finally, she fell silent, overcome by fatigue and drugs. Silence. The lawyer, relieved, turned to me.

"That woman! She will kill herself if she continues to have such fits."

"And she is killing her child," I replied.

"She was so hoping to see Mr Sherlock Holmes. Where is he?"

"In London, he had some research to do."

"May God help him find the truth!"

"Do you think she's guilty?"

The old lawyer shrugged his shoulders. Together, we left the cell. 

“Frankly speaking, Doctor Watson? I am not sure. There are women ready to do anything to reach their goal. However, I have the feeling that Mrs Nordon is no such woman. She didn’t want to harm anyone, so, tragically, she lied about her identity to Colonel Landsbury. That was a big mistake.”

One last look at the young woman, then we parted ways. I bid Inspector Stanely goodbye and then I returned to Crevecoeur Hall.

That night I slept poorly, yet unaware of the terrible things that occurred on the grounds of the estate.

* * *

Loud banging woke me the next morning. Alarmed, I raised my voice, inquiring about the going on. 

"Doctor Watson, you have to come. Sir Lansbury is missing."

I hardly recognized the frightened voice of Mary-Ann. Instantly, I was awake. I rushed to the door, quickly putting on my dressing gown. The maid’s face was pale. She looked defeated, distraught.

"What do you mean by missing? Surely, he couldn’t simply disappear overnight?”

"He cannot be found anywhere in the house, Doctor Watson. His bed is untouched. It is as if he’s vanished into thin air!”

Suddenly, I recalled Colonel Landsbury’s agitation yesterday. He had acted as if he was out of his mind, but… “Is he was known to be disappearing, Mary-Ann?”

"Not at all, sir. Normally, I would come and wake him, bringing tea and the ironed newspaper for him. This is highly unusual, Doctor. I don’t know what to do!”

As a doctor as well as Sherlock Holmes’ trusted companion I knew my duties: I joined the house staff in the search of Colonel Landsbury. It didn’t take me long to discover a letter in his office. The quickly written words were almost unreadable. 

> “I can't take this emptiness anymore. 
> 
> Adèle dead, Jane guilty. 
> 
> Might as well end it. "

"My God", I couldn't help but whisper. I was running against time and God only knows if I had run out already. Robert was sent for Inspector Stanley. Accompanied by the cook and Mary-Ann we rushed out into the park, white with snow. 

And it was in the park, near the big elm trees that we discovered the colonel. 

The poor man, in despair, hanged himself from a tree. 

He was wearing the same clothes as the night before. 

I hated myself horribly for not predicting it, but could I have? I am not Sherlock Holmes. 

Before I could even approach the body and observe the scene, the little maid rushed forward.

"NO," I yelled. “You cannot touch anything.”

"But we can't leave him that way," she retorted.

"Until the police cleared the scene, nothing should be changed."

“It’s not proper to leave him hanging that way. We've got to get him down from there, poor fellow." The cook had started to cry.

"This is out of the question! Please, return to the kitchen, dear woman, and make some tea. It will all do us good. Take Mary-Ann with you."

It took some more tears and convincing until the two women finally left. At last, I could begin to observe the scene, using my time until Robert’s return with the police.

Mary-Ann’s rushing to the tree had blurred the footprints, so I was no longer able to tell which ones were hers, the victim’s or someone else’s. 

The body was framed by the edge of the forest and the famous Landsbury’ family tomb. Approaching it, I spotted that the entrance was not locked. 

I was shaking with cold, cursing myself for stepping out so stupidly in a nightgown with a simple dressing gown. 

My hopes for escaping the death of winter were short-lived, as the temperatures were almost identical. The tomb was a single room, damp like a cellar. At least, I was protected from the icy wind here. I fumble around the walls and bump into the very low ceiling, a barrel vault. My feet encountered a soft mass where they grabbed hold of. 

Rapid anguish seized me, was it another body? 

I leaned down and felt the mace with concern. 

It was a piece of fabric, I found out with staggering relief soon. I grabbed it, returning to the outdoors and into the light. There, I discovered that it was a big blanket that someone had rolled into a ball.

I was more than happy that I had not stumbled over another body, but the question remained: how could a blanket find its way into this remote corner?

* * *

In the house, my orders had been followed and tea was waiting for me. The two women, united by fear and grief, were sitting together in the living room. When I arrived, they got up.

"Have the police arrived?" I inquired.

"Not yet, Doctor Watson. Did you find anything?"

"There was this blanket in the tomb, do you recognise it?"

They looked at the blanket. Mary-Ann screamed. “It belongs to Robert. This is one of the horse blankets. Isn't that right, Emmy? "

The cook looked at her attentively and did not know what to say. She stammered: "I am not sure. I never go to the stable. Looks like a horse blanket indeed.”

"What is Robert doing? Shouldn't he be back already?" asked the young maid anxiously.

"I do not know. I'll go get the police. Stay here and if the police arrive to tell them I won't belong."

The two women overwhelmed with concern, nod. I sped off to get dressed and ran to the stable. The research in the tomb could wait, but I cursed Holmes for not being there. The colonel owned several horses. The driver had left only with the harnessed carriage. I chose a large gelding, looking fairly calm and left for the police station.

My arrival caused a sensation. Inspector Stanley was still present. He must have spent the night at the station, stretched out on an ottoman. He listened to my news with amazement and exasperation. It didn't take long for him to gather his men and follow me to Crevecoeur Hall.

Inspector Stanley may not have been a nice or pleasant person, but he was efficient. In no time, the area was searched with care and diligence, including the tomb. In addition to the blanket, various objects were discovered, including a plate, a bowl filled with water, a bucket and a red coat with pom poms. The coat caused a great sensation among the servants: the coat belonged to Adèle Landsbury. However, there was still no trace of the young girl. Was she even still alive?

Naturally, Inspector Stanley was scolding his police officers. Weren’t they supposed to have searched this place carefully? But the men insisted that nothing had been found yesterday. Yesterday, the tomb had been empty. Yet, Inspector Stanley didn’t believe them. He sent his men to resume their research, threatening them with the worst reprisals if their work was botched. 

Once alone, the inspector growled: "Idiots. They must not have searched this place."

"Unless nothing was there," I risked.

"Where the devil could the coachman have buried the body of the little one?"

"He left with the car to pick you up. What could have become of him?"

"He escaped. But we will find him, I guarantee it."

The inspector disappeared, wanting to watch his men for fear that they would again forget places to examine. So I remained alone near the tomb.

From afar, I observed that Colonel Landsbury’s dead body was removed from the scene. Two policemen brought him down from the elm tree, then covered him into a white sheet, making him almost disappear in all the white, and then transported him into Crevecoeur Hall. 

* * *

Everything was so cold. What was Holmes doing so important, besides staying warm, in London?

"I failed, John," a well-known voice whispered to me.


	5. The Child Becomes A Central Character

“Holmes, finally! You are back."

I turned and saw Sherlock Holmes near the big elm tree. My companion must have returned without my noticing. He seemed to have aged ten years. His arm was resting against a tree, his forehead against the trunk.

“Our client is dead, John, while his daughter is still missing. I failed them all.”

“Let's not despair, Holmes,” I began, approaching him.

He didn't seem to hear me. His posture as well as his unusual voice alarmed me. 

"I should have reacted faster, prevented the irreparable…”

“What could you have done, dear? The colonel was distraught. Something must have pushed him to the limit.” 

“Something? What do you mean, Watson?"

The eyes had reopened in a steel grey flash. Holmes gave me a piercing look. I had spoken without thinking, just trying to cheer him up. It might not be wise, but it was necessary. I could not stomach to witness my Holmes' hopelessness.

"How would you describe our client's inner state the last time you saw him?”

“Resolved. Landsbury had just disinherited Mrs Nordon. He even rushed to his lawyer to ensure it.”

“And he would have committed suicide after that?"

I could not give him an answer that explained it all. However, as a doctor, I knew that when a soul is lost, there is no hope. "During the night the colonel must have had a mental breakdown, the reality of the betrayal crashing down on him as well as the possible death of his daughter. Not being able to find sleep nor solace, he resolved to kill himself."

"Not very convincing, is it, Watson?”

“Landsbury left a farewell message telling about the dead Adèle and the guilty Jane. He must have cracked. There is no logic in suicide.”

Holmes huffed but listened to my medical opinion. He straightened up and walked over to me, noticeably more determined than ever.

“The little one is dead, Watson.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I haven't been in London that long just to warm myself by the fireplace as you seem to believe, my dear Watson,” Holmes smiled at me, still slightly sad.

“But I said no such thing!”

“Your eyes reveal yourself, I have always told you, John. Come on, let's walk a bit. I don't want to meet Detective Stanley and suffer his complaints just yet."

I followed my companion into the depths of the forest, to the far edge of Crevecoeur Hall. He was walking slowly, limping only very slightly, so he must have sprained his ankle. I made a mental note to take a look at it in the privacy of our room. Content with strolling around the countryside with my companion by my side, the white around us suddenly seemed more magical. I didn't want to break the silence and waited for his words. 

“I found Paul Nordon. He is sorry for his wife's return. He believed she had committed suicide. Besides, he threatened her with the worst reprisals if she reappeared at home. He is a very violent alcoholic. Either way, he has found another unfortunate woman who he can knock on without fear.”

“Mrs Nordon was right to run away from such a character.”

“Yes, but not to lie to the colonel. Polyamory is punished by law.”

“What else did you find?”

“I found the messenger. An article published in the _Daily Telegraph_ is always enticing. But he didn't teach me anything. I must admit that our man's way of playing is quite clever. He called a porter and waited quietly outside the door at 221b Baker Street. The porter would have sworn that this man was indeed from 221b and that he was indeed Mr Sherlock Holmes.”

“Unbelievable! In front of 221b!”

“Isn't it? And the best part is that we have a precise description of our man. He was wearing a long coat and a checkered hunting cap, he was smoking a long pipe… Does this description remind you of anyone, my dear Watson?”

“You!”

“Me, according to the inspired drawings of Mr Sidney Paget in _The Strand_. How can you expect our messenger not to trust such an authority? As for the rest of me, the wearer remembers only one thing, I wore a big black beard and glasses."

Holmes was smiling but I could tell he was upset. A hundred times I had asked my literary agent, the sympathetic Doctor Arthur Conan Doyle, to remove these illustrations or change their style. Nothing had happened. Our man had been very intelligent, although this was not the first time the detective's name and fame had been misused. He had only gone a little further than the others, also distorting the image of the great detective.

“I am sincerely sorry, Holmes.”

“My physique being very recognizable, I must admit that this man was very ingenious. Finally, the trail ended there, I can't hope to find our man. He evaporated in the crowd without a doubt.”

“What about Adèle?”

“The Daily Telegraph as received a new letter from our raven. Of course, I am not the author. If I summarize my actions over the past few hours, I have gone from failure to disappointment. At _The Daily Telegraph_ headquarters, journalist Roy Robson taught me nothing. The latter quickly admitted to me that he did not know Sherlock Holmes, that he had not even met him... until this day."

Holmes smirked.

“So a porter showed up a few days ago and brought a message from me. It was not the first time that I had used the newspapers to advance an investigation and as I requested the collaboration of the _Daily Telegraph_ , Roy Robson was very happy to assist me in my research. I also think he was happy to have a scoop to share. So I read the post I am supposed to have written but it was nothing exceptional, it just reiterated the terms of the article followed by the order to publish it on the front page on the said day. Robson was sorry he had let himself be so mistaken, he promised to let me know if another letter from the Raven reached the editor. There she is!"

And Holmes handed me a letter.

> Mr Robston, 
> 
> I would appreciate it if you put a new article on the front page about the Landsbury affair. This contribution will allow me to outwit the culprits and force them to confess where the body of little Adèle is buried. Please post this:
> 
> _Mr Sherlock Holmes is continuing his investigation in Norwich. As he had promised to our reporter, he agreed to reveal some aspects of this unfortunate affair._
> 
> _The detective has uncovered compelling evidence that young Adèle Landsbury is dead and that only her body is missing for the case to be finally closed. So what happened to the morphine that was used to put the little one to sleep the night of her abduction? Wasn't she in the herbal tea served every evening to Adèle and wasn't it the treacherous housekeeper who served her? What about the red coat? Mr Holmes wonders why the vault hasn't been excavated yet! And the forest floor on the edge of the Crucey Croft Estate is less frozen than elsewhere. Easier to dig… It goes without saying that Mr Holmes is certain of Mrs Nordon's guilt, which now only has to confess to her crime. Besides, what is she waiting for to do it when everything is already over?_

“Machiavellian! He hoped that young Mrs Nordon pushed to the limit, did something desperate.”

“I took the first train and came back. How is she, Watson?”

“Very badly, she could lose her child if she cannot calm down."

In front of Holmes' surprise, little acquainted with the feminine sensibility, I told him about the meeting with Mrs Nordon. He shook his head, saddened.

“And the news of the colonel's suicide isn't going to make it any more reasonable.”

“But how can you be sure that Adèle is dead?”

“The writer of these lines didn't lie the first time. I'm afraid he's not lying this time around either. Our man is the one who kidnapped and killed Adèle, he's just trying to get Mrs Nordon accused of her crime.”

“So Mrs Nordon is innocent and can be released.”

“Maybe, Watson, maybe… Unless it's part of a plan…”

“A plan?”

“Anyway, someone knew and told the colonel, thus pushing him to suicide."

With these last words, Holmes fell silent and surveyed the surroundings. Despite ourselves, we had returned near the vault. The voices of the police reached us, they are now searching inside the house. Some even had to dig somewhere. Holmes examined the tall elm tree on which Landsbury had hung in desperation. The detective then looked at the land and the surroundings. Finally, he entered the lightless vault. Did Holmes have eyes piercing enough to penetrate the darkness of the torchless tomb?

Sure there was nothing left, I expected it. I was surprised to see Mary-Ann appear, she also seemed surprised to see me there but approached anyway.

“Doctor Watson, we were wondering where you had been?”

“I haven't moved, Mary-Ann.”

“You must be frozen, so come and warm yourself in the house. The inspector is there too."

Before I could answer, my friend's dry voice, emerging from the dust-covered vault, echoed: “Excellent idea, Miss. We are following you.”

“Mr Holmes! You're back!” she cried, amazed. “But…”

“But?”

“But,” she said more confidently, “you should have warned of your return. We would have your room prepared.”

The young maid preceded us through the park alleys to Crevecoeur Hall's living room.

* * *

Detective Stanley was very happy to see Holmes again. He was sitting in front of the fire, a cup of tea in his hand, immediately Mary-Ann came to his service and offered him some cakes.

“Ha, Mr Holmes! You haven't abandoned us from what I see.”

“I wouldn't have allowed myself, Inspector.”

“Any news from London?”

“Mr Nordon does exist, I've found him.”

“Good. The first part of Mrs Nordon's speech is therefore true. I wired in London but no information had reached me yet. He will have to come and testify at the trial.”

“At the trial?” I cried surprised.

“That of this woman and her accomplice.”

“As for the author of the article,” said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders, “I couldn't get hold of it. I do not despair.”

“Certainly Robert.”

“The coachman?” Holmes asked unsurprisingly.

“He disappeared this morning, shortly after the discovery of Sir Landsbury's body. He's Mrs Nordon's accomplice, I'm sure. He fled but we will find him. Trust me!”

“As for Adèle, we'll have to redouble our efforts and do more research. Her body must be somewhere, buried."

The inspector looked at Holmes in amazement and received the newspaper dispatch from his hands. Holmes sat down in an armchair in front of the fire, I followed suit. Mary-Ann immediately served us a hot cup of tea and some cakes. They were delicious, with anise.

As he read the few lines, Stanley's eyes widened, finally they landed on Holmes, bewildered. The latter made a gesture of denial, no he was not the author of this message.

“We're going to have to dig. With this damn snow that covers everything, we will not discover anything until spring."

Holmes nodded. The inspector in turn explains, not without taking back an anise cake: “We did indeed find the little girl's coat and a blanket in the vault. The servants formally recognized him. My men searched the area very badly. Lastly, Adèle lived there for a few days under the supervision of someone. The coachman without a doubt.”

“This is indeed the conclusion one can draw when examining the premises.”

“Thanks for calling me, Mr Holmes.”

“Why didn't they kill her right away?” I asked.

"To give yourself time," Stanley replied. “You had to see how the case would turn out."

The Inspector took his head in both hands, after placing the cup near the fireplace.

"But then I no longer understand what Mrs Nordon’s role is in this story?”

"Maybe she's innocent," I risked.

“Maybe indeed.”

“So you no longer believe her guilty?” Holmes said, blowing on the hot tea young Mary-Ann had just served him with a very amiable smile.

“I don't know, Mr Holmes. You confuse such a simple matter with your last-minute disclosures.”

"I'll tell you what I think about this matter," Holmes cried, smiling back at Mary-Ann, who handed her the tray of cakes.

This young maid did her job admirably, a real gem. After taking care of Holmes so kindly, she will take care of me, pouring me a cup of tea and cookies again with a charming smile. I had to pull myself together to listen, it was not Holmes' habit to share his thoughts during an investigation. We were all ears, well I tried, even young Mary-Ann after serving me kindly remained in the room looking as if she was collecting dust on the cabinet.

"In my opinion and according to what I discovered during my research, Robert didn't like the housekeeper, everyone knows that by the way. So he tried everything to get her to leave. But when he realized that the Colonel had fallen in love with this scheming and was preparing to marry her, this old butler, long attached to the Landsbury's service, hatched an atrocious plan. He had decided to kidnap the colonel's daughter and do everything to ensure that the housekeeper was accused in her place."

I wanted to say something against the outrageous theory I thought of Holmes but he gave me a penetrating look that silenced me.

"So on the night of Adèle’s kidnapping, Robert manages to get up to Adèle's room quite late. Anyway, he must light the fire in the fireplace. Of course, he took the opportunity to drug the child, already asleep, with morphine. He wants to be sure that she will not wake up during his journey.”

“Wait, Mr Holmes, Stanley Cup. We found the morphine in Mrs Nordon's personal belongings, not Robert's.”

“As the Colonel said, Robert was employed as a coachman. He tinkered with, gardened, took care of the horses ... Easy for this handyman to make a false key and hide the drugs in the housekeeper's drawer."

Stanley seemed to think for a few moments, but not knowing how to counter Holmes, he nodded: "After all, why not? But we'll see that when we get it.”

“He kidnaps the kid and hides her in the vault. Finally, he waits until I am called to take charge of this matter. He knows my reputation and he wants to play on it. He writes the letters, sends them to a well-known newspaper in London. He foresees everything.”

“But my men are supposed to have searched the entire perimeter. We would have found the girl if she had stayed in Crevecoeur Hall.”

“She escaped you. Was Robert present during your excavations?”

“I… I don't know… Certainly.”

"Forgive me, gentlemen," Mary-Ann whispered, blushing adorably. “But the colonel had sent Robert to fetch some medicine to treat Mrs Nordon. She was in terrible pain, still in shock over Adèle’s disappearance.”

“It's all explained,” Stanley roared, rising to his full height. “She was hidden in the carriage, knocked out by morphine. And he walked it around as we searched all over Crevecoeur Hall. Then he quietly put it back in the vault, sure the police weren't coming back anytime soon. How clear everything is thanks to you, Mr Holmes!"

Unable to do so, I cut short the inspector's elated remarks, disdaining Holmes' sharp gaze calling for silence.

"I think he took reckless risks by not killing the little one immediately," I whispered. “What an inconsistency!”

"He had to wait before killing her, Watson," said Holmes. “Which would explain why he brought her food, a warm blanket ... She must not die before sealing Mrs Nordon's fate.”

"But he still had to make up his mind to kill Adèle," Stanley said.

“And that's the rub. Robert didn't like the governess, he especially didn't want her to inherit from Croevcoer Hall. He must have killed the girl but he didn't want the colonel dead. Faced with the latter's suicide, Robert got scared and fled.”

“What was he hoping for?”

“To drive the schemer out of the house, so Colonel Landsbury retains his honour.”

“And he would have killed the daughter of his beloved master to achieve his ends. Your theory does not hold water, Holmes!”

“So how do you explain this?"

Holmes took a letter from his pocket and handed it to us.

> Colonel,
> 
> Join me in your father's vault. I have some revelations for you about Mrs Nordon. Come alone tonight at eleven o'clock.
> 
> Robert

“Mary-Ann. Do you recognise this as Robert's handwriting?"

The young maid humbly approached and observed the paper.

"That’s his handwriting, Mr Holmes. I am sure of it!”

“Unbelievable!” Stanley cried. “Where did you find it?”

“But where I thought I would find him. At the foot of the big elm tree, she fell to the ground when the colonel's hand let go.”

“Lord! How sad”, I couldn't help but whisper.

“Robert won it all. Instead of being happy to see his honour saved, the deceitful woman punished, the colonel committed suicide”, Stanley said bitterly.

“But why kill Adèle? Wouldn't it have been easier to keep her alive and return her to the Colonel once the truth about Mrs Nordon is established? Why go to the end of this madness?”

“So many questions, my dear Watson! You will have the answers when you have Robert in front of you."

I was about to respond but Holmes gave me a look so sparkling that I decided to shut up and wait. Something was amiss.

"You are going to have to free this hapless Mrs Nordon, she is only guilty of hiding her true identity.”

“That goes without saying. I'm going to question Mrs Nordon again, but she will be available this evening. Maybe she has an idea of where Robert is hiding.”

“Good idea. Perhaps the latest twists and turns will make her confess what we still don't know.”

“Do you think you were wrong, Mr Holmes?”

“I'm just saying I'm not infallible.”

“As for me, I already know that I am not infallible because I was indeed wrong about you, Mr Holmes. You are a good guy and a great detective."

Holmes and Stanley shook hands.

"Speaking of Mrs Nordon, please tell her that as soon as she is free, she must come to Baker Street. I have heard from her husband. And she must not run away where I will be forced to have her arrested.”

I hoped for a final clarification from Holmes, but it came to nothing. And to my surprise, after Inspector Stanley left, we returned to London.

Before leaving for good, Holmes wishes to meet the lawyer one last time to find out the name of the universal legatee. I was waiting for him outside the door, not wanting to see this awful character again and already knowing the answer.

"It's Michael who inherits, isn't he?”

“Yes, my dear Watson. But I have not said my last word."


	6. A Last Will Surprises

_ To tremble from cold in the icy snow,  _

_ In the harsh breath of a horrid wind;  _

_ To run, stamping one's feet every moment,  _

_ Our teeth chattering in the extreme cold  _

Baker Street was even more buried in snow. It was cold. Mrs Hudson had taken care of the fireplace and hellfire was burning. I was seated in front of the fireplace, relishing with delight the warmth of the flames on my cheeks. Holmes was pacing the apartment impatiently. I didn't understand his agitation and didn't want to interrupt his reasoning.

Several days passed in complete stillness. Holmes, more and more irritable, only played the violin with gusto, chaining the most discordant studies with the most unsightly squeaks. The snow finally stopped falling and a beautiful winter sun sparkled over London. Little by little life returned to the streets, people went back to taking walks; me first, both to escape the grinding of Holmes' violin and to take advantage of the beautiful sun. I spent quiet days at my club, happily reuniting with old friends, scotch and billiards.

_ Before the fire to pass peaceful,  _

_ Contented days while the rain outside pours down. _

Finally one day, about a week after our return from Norwich, I was surprised to meet Mrs Nordon in our living room on Baker Street, in deep conversation with Sherlock Holmes. She was dressed all in black, her face pale, her cheeks hollow with sorrow. She listened to the detective attentively.

“You must believe me, Mrs Nordon. All is not lost.”

“What's the point? My heart has been dead for a week.”

“But you are going to have a child, madam. You must think of your child.”

“Even the colonel didn't recognize it. How do you advise me?”

“You have to believe me, madam.”

Holmes turned his head and motioned for me to approach. I greeted the poor lady, she looked more tired than ever but she still had those beautiful blue eyes.

“Doctor Watson! You should have given me poison rather than a painkiller that fateful night.”

"Please ma'am," Holmes said patiently, reaching for one of the hapless woman's gloved hands. “Listen to me. You must return to Norwich for the opening of Colonel Landsbury's will with me.”

“What about my husband? Did I not come at your command about it?”

“I made arrangements with Mrs Nordon, he will grant you a divorce.”

“At my expense, I suppose?” she sneered.

“Not just, madam,” Holmes smiled. “He is not completely innocent either.”

“I begged him so much to give it to me. How did you do?”

“I just had to be persuasive. He lives with a new wife.”

“The unhappy one.”

“If he didn't want to be accused of bigamy, he had better come to an amicable settlement. The faith of Sherlock Holmes!"

A small smile appeared on the young woman's face, the first in a long time, giving her back some of her old beauty. "How easy it is with you. If I had known…”

“Please, you have to trust me. You have to go to Norwich for the opening of the will.”

“When will it take place?” She asked with a sigh, tired of fighting against Sherlock Holmes' stronger will.

“In three days. At the Notary Arbucklehurt. You will be there?”

Holmes’s eagerness was visible, the young woman smiled. “It seems to mean a lot to you, Mr Holmes.

“I blame myself for the colonel's death. I wouldn't want his legitimate child to be robbed of his inheritance.”

“But since he didn't recognize the child?” She whispered weakly.

“We will see. You can count on me."

Holmes had said these few words with such a determined air that the young woman was seized with it.

"I thought you were more insensitive, Mr Holmes, if Dr Watson's writings are to be believed.”

“You don't have to. Watson tends to force the line. "

That little unfair remark against my news made me raise a disapproving eyebrow which Holmes ignored.

"You see me delighted."

And that was all. The young woman, currently staying with one of her friends not far from London, left us on the promise of returning to Norwich.

_ We tread the icy path slowly and cautiously,  _

_ for fear of tripping and falling.  _

_ Then turn abruptly, slip, crash on the ground and,  _

_ rising, hasten on across the ice lest it cracks up.  _

"This is a very brave young woman, isn't she, my dear Watson? She must be your type.”

“What cruel game are you playing with this poor woman, Holmes?”

“Come on,” said Holmes, raising his arms to heaven. “You, of all people, have to trust me, John.”

“You know very well that Mrs Nordon will inherit nothing. The colonel certified to me that he had disinherited her.”

“In a fit of anger, I know.”

“So what? The result is the same. The unfortunate woman is going to suffer trauma and you will not gain anything in this business.”

“Who knows?"

And with this, Holmes turned around and picked up his violin. I expected another nerve-racking session, but I was happy to hear Vivaldi's  _ Winter _ . So I was able to sit down and enjoy this beautiful and sunny winter day, trying to penetrate Holmes' motives which proved to be fruitless.

_ We feel the chill north winds course through the home  _

_ despite the locked and bolted doors...  _

_ this is winter, which nonetheless  _

_ brings its delights.  _

* * *

Three more days passed then it was time for our departure to Norwich. 

Holmes had surprised me by purchasing a Macfarlane and a hunting cap, resembling a deerstalker. He looked uncanny like Sidney Paget’s drawing accompanying my stories in  _ The Strand _ . I didn’t dare to question his motive, but I admit that his disguise as The Sherlock Holmes made me uneasy.

Me, looking myself, and Holmes looking like his public persona, waited in front of the notary. It was freezing, so I prayed that the other witnesses to the last will of Colonel Landsbury would turn up soon.

Finally, a landau arrived harnessed to magnificent chestnut horses. A man in his thirties got out. Dressed in an elegant grey suit, a thin little moustache, I easily recognized Michael Landsbury without even having met him. The perfect example of a young dandy, playful and arrogant.

“Gentlemen,” he said with a smile, supple removing his top hat.

"Mr Landsbury," Holmes said, bowing slightly.

“How sad to meet in such circumstances! I have so much admiration for you, Mr Holmes.”

“Thank you. Let us go in, Mr Arbucklehurt awaits us.”

“Very well, Mr Holmes. Don't keep him waiting then."

Entering the notary’s office, Holmes looked nervous. My uneasiness morphed into silent alarm. His mumbling speech seemed to prove my point: “She had promised. Ha, women! You can never trust them!"

I sensed that Holmes had a plan, one that was falling into pieces at the moment. Frankly speaking, I was still baffled about our presence at the opening of the will. What did we have to do with this strictly private matter? The Landsbury case was closed, hadn't Holmes made it clear to us? The rest were no longer our business, especially if Mrs Nordon was away.

The office room was a small room which was admirably tidy. Everything was in its place, no files were lying on the furniture. Mr Arbucklehurt was seated at his desk, his hands resting on a large yellow envelope. When we entered, the little lawyer cast an astonished look at my companion. Holmes looked down. The reading of the will, therefore, concerned only three people: Michael Landsbury, Mary-Ann, pretty as a heart without her maid's dress, and the cook Emmy, her eyes still red with tears. Holmes and I sat down beside them. The lawyer began his speech:

"We are gathered here for the opening of the will of the late Charles Edouard Henri Landsbury. It was written in 1875."

It was therefore the first will written by Colonel Landsbury. After these introductory words, the lawyer took a long letter opener and very solemnly he opened the envelope with a sharp gesture.

"So I'm going to read you this…”

“Forgive my delay." A breathless female voice had just cut off Mr Arbucklehurt. 

The lawyer smirked and bowed gallantly. “It's okay Mrs Nordon. We've been expecting you."

Holmes stood up, visibly relieved and advanced to a seat with Mrs Nordon who thanked him in a whisper. Of all those present, only Michael Landsbury seemed the most unwilling to accept the housekeeper's presence. He straightened up, his eyes blazing with anger.

"What does that mean? What is this woman doing here?”

"She is also concerned with Mr Landsbury's will," replied Mr Arbucklehurt calmly.

“What do you mean? It's her fault that my uncle died, she should be locked up. There's no way she'll inherit anything”, shouted Michael Landsbury.

“Please sit down and calm yourself, sir. Let Mr Arbucklehurt continue reading the will."

Mr Landsbury was casting an angry glance at Sherlock Holmes, who had just lectured him like a boisterous child. The detective did not raise, disdaining the anger of the young man. Containing his fury with great difficulty, Mr Landsbury sat down. 

Mr Arbucklehurt resumed his speech:

> “I, Colonel Charles Edouard Henri Landsbury, sound in body and mind, made my will in 1875. All my fortune, movable and immovable property, capital and stock market shares, goes to my nephew Michael Landsbury. May 200 pounds be allotted to each of my servants."

There followed a pompous and uninteresting speech on the technical details of making the will, mortgages and guarantees...

Mr Landsbury had a fat, content smile. The two maids were pleasantly surprised at the fortune that was coming to them. As for Mrs Nordon, she bowed her head and seemed on the verge of tears. Holmes put a hand on the young woman's. She looked at him and he smiled encouragingly.

I hoped that my face didn’t show my confusion as well my barely contained jealousy. What the hell was going on? What wicked play was my Holmes playing?

Finally, the lawyer arrived at the end of his interminable speech. Mr Arbucklehurt concluded: “A postscript was added to the will by the colonel himself. It stipulates that Michael Landsbury will only inherit his fortune if no natural or adopted child is born."

The lawyer quietly closed the envelope after putting the will in order, he smiled as he looked at Mrs Nordon.

"You are inheriting a fine fortune, Madame. "

Michael Landsbury's eyes widened in amazement. He was choking with so much rage that he was unable to respond for a few moments. The maids were as confused as he was. Even Mrs Nordon had turned pale, not knowing how to react. 

Finally, the colonel's nephew stood up again and yelled in a shrill voice: "It is not possible! I am the only legitimate heir!”

“I'm sorry, Mr Landsbury, but the Colonel's will is very clear on this point. You inherit nothing since a natural child of your uncle will be born.”

"The child wasn't recognized by my uncle," Landsbury roared.

"But he did, Mr Landsbury," Holmes uttered calmly. “I have a piece of paper here from the colonel to prove it."

And Holmes miraculously took out a letter from Colonel Landsbury, and read it to us.

> “Mr Sherlock Holmes,
> 
> Please watch over Jane Nordon. I have thought about it and I want her child to inherit. It will be our child, my heir.
> 
> Your,
> 
> Colonel Landsbury ”

“How…” Michael Landsbury began.

“The colonel just sent it to me shortly before his death at my accommodation on Baker Street. It was the afternoon before his suicide."

The young man picked up the letter and looked at it intently. Mary-Ann and Emmy examined too.

"That's his handwriting," the cook cried happily. “The brave colonel recognized his child. God bless his soul! How sad he didn’t dare to go on living.”

“I will not let myself be fooled, Mr Holmes. You're not going to strip me for this woman. My uncle died because of her. I will know how to make your throat.”

“We'll see Mr Landsbury. We will see. In any case, I inform you that I am taking Mrs Nordon under my protection. Who lives…”

And without answering, the young dandy left the study, slamming the door. The two servants looked at each other worried by the turn of events. Only Mrs Nordon, still in shock, looked more dead than alive.

"Come on ma'am," cried Holmes. “Get over! I will protect you, I said. He recognized our child. Didn't he love you after all? He ignored your fault.”

The young woman gave him a look sparkling with tears. Sherlock Holmes had too little experience with women to understand how harsh his words were.

"To begin with, Madame," continued the lawyer. “You need a great lawyer.”

“Why?” she asked in surprise.

"Because our unfortunate disinheritance is not going to stop there," Holmes explained. “Michael Landsbury will do everything to break the will. And the Landsbury scandal is not working in your favour.”

“But I don't know a lawyer... except for Master Cavendish…”

“Don't worry, ma'am. I will brief him and we will prepare your defence together. There are courts in England where the word of Mr Sherlock Holmes is still valuable. You cannot lose."

Holmes gave her a beaming smile. I wanted to scream and throttle my partner’s throat, demanding that he speaks. I play the fool for him from time to time, and sometimes I haven’t even realised that he played me, but like all human beings, I had my weak spot. On that particular day, Sherlock Holmes pushed all my buttons. 

I didn’t like it one bit. 

When I witnessed that Holmes gave the young man his hand and helped her out of the office, even letting her take his arm to stabilize her, I had to press my lips shut firmly. 

Maybe the two servants were babbling something while they followed us outside, but I could not recall anything. Michael Landsbury’s gleaming cab was gone. Mary-Ann and the cook set off for Crevecoeur Hall, climbing into a burrowed cart. 

The carriage that Colonel Landsbury had owned had disappeared along with its driver, Robert. Just like Adèle Landsbury, to never be seen again.

* * *

Holmes took us to a simple inn in Norwich, where we took three rooms. We could have gotten away with two rooms, so Holmes and I could share one, but apparently, I had no saying in anything at the moment. Mrs Nordon didn't ask any questions, letting the detective lead without resisting. Before she retired to bed, Holmes insisted that she should not leave the room and rest. 

At last, Holmes pulled me into the inn’s dining room. The surrounding already told me that this would be official business. He could have led me into one of the bedrooms but he preferred to focus on the case. 

I didn’t like it, but I followed my partner and sat down opposite him. It was a bit childish that I ordered two pints and a hearty meal for us unprompted. However, two could play this game, and if Holmes would not let me into everything, at least, I could keep him nutritious. 

The shepherd’s pie was good enough and sensing my willingness to listen to him once more, Holmes said: “We will have to redouble our vigilance, Watson. The trap is set.”

“The trap? What trap?”

Ignoring my - I believed valid - questions, Holmes continued: “Watson. I'll charge you to watch the governance. As for me, I will try to play my role until the end.”

“Your role?" 

I didn't understand anything Holmes was telling me. What was happening? What role? In the past, whenever Holmes had kept me in the dark it had hurt us or our clients. My Holmes knew all-too-well that I had severe trust issues. Yet, my partner abandoned me once more.

Without further ado, he left the table, the meal barely touched.

After finishing my pie alone, I went up to my bedroom which I would surely share alone for an indefinite time. My room was next to Mrs Nordon’s. 

Holmes’ demands echoed in my head. Check on Mrs Nordon? Was my partner afraid she would run away? That she killed herself? That she be killed? What questions! After several minutes of mortal boredom, I decided to go check on her. 

I knocked on the door to her room. The rest of the day, we spent in almost friendly conversation. Mrs Nordon seemed to be as lonely and confused as I was. She was happy to chat with someone. I played the role I know best: the role of a doctor, offering her a sympathetic ear and giving her some advice about her health.

* * *

The next day, Holmes was absent. Instead, Michael Landsbury wanted to meet Mrs Nordon. Always so elegantly dressed, a big smile on his lips, he was truly a handsome man. He looked sheepish and ashamed of his anger the night before. He greeted Mrs Nordon gallantly and we had a meeting in the inn room, amid the conversations of the customers and the smell of the food being prepared in the kitchens. Mutton stew if I remember correctly.

"First of all, madame, I apologize for my temper yesterday. You see I believed what the newspapers said about you. I thought you were guilty…”

“Don't apologize”, whispered the young woman. “I understand.”

“It must be said that I was so surprised to learn that my uncle recognized your child. He's a man I've never liked, always so picky about honour. I couldn't imagine…”

“Come to the point, sir, please." Mrs Nordon had said that in a firm voice, was she regaining her confidence?

"Well," he said in a less suave and drier voice. “I have made up my mind, ma'am, not to try to be cruel to you in this state by bringing a lawsuit that you are sure to lose. Out of respect for my uncle, I am ready to share the inheritance.”

“Share the inheritance?”

“Of course. We just have to come to terms with Mr Albucklhurt. What do you think? No more lawsuits, no more scandals and you will be able to raise your child without any problem.”

“Will the child have the right to bear the colonel's name?”

“Madam, you ask a lot. There can be no question of that." Mr Landsbury's gaze turned compassionate, he seemed genuinely sorry. "It's up to me to carry the title, madam. Society will never accept that a natural child inherits such an old and respected name as Landsbury. Understand me!”

“It's all decided. I refuse!” Mrs Nordon said in a tone that admitted no retort.

“You are making a mistake, ma'am. You cannot win this lawsuit.”

“I cannot accept money from you, Mr Landsbury. You are just a mean person. Do you think I have forgotten the torments you inflicted on your uncle?”

“I will not tolerate any insult from a schemer like you. Do you think no one at the mansion noticed your ride? You are just a beautiful face and your place is more on the sidewalks of Whitechapel than in a nobility mansion. "

Mrs Nordon let out a cry of pain. My blood only swirled around and I sat up threateningly, Landsbury to his feet and put his hat back on his head. Before leaving, he threw it at Mrs Nordon.

"Either way you're going to lose your case and you'll end up with nothing.”

“Why, then? I trust Mr Sherlock Holmes.” She sounded so sure, and I desperately wanted to express the same sentiment. 

“Mr Holmes has stepped forward a bit here, Mrs Nordon. You have no chance, as the letter has no legal value.”

“Why should that be the case, Mr Landsbury?” I couldn't help but ask, regaining my composure and having less of the urge to kick this impudent character's ass. Further, it had always made me angry when someone insinuates that my Holmes wasn’t as smart as I believed him to be.

"Because Colonel Landsbury, my uncle, can only have written the letter in a moment of madness. I have testimonies from the house staff, all of them agree that the colonel has had neurasthenia since his daughter's abduction. He wavered between anger and utter despair. Didn't he kill himself? Hence, he wrote this letter to Mr Holmes in a daze.”

“How can you say that?” Mrs Nordon exclaimed, revealing a face streaming with tears.

“Doctor Watson himself can testify that the Colonel disinherited you in a fit of anger. Likewise, he wrote this letter in a fit of despair. I will know how to plead madness to break the will."

The young woman didn't know what to say. She looked up at me but I couldn't find anything to say either. It was certain to me that the Colonel's mind was wavering, I couldn't forget the cold anger that had driven him to disinherit Mrs Nordon. Michael Landsbury triumphed. 

He moved closer to Mrs Nordon and placed both hands on the table, in the attitude of a victor. He proclaimed, barely hiding his triumph in his voice: "So it is settled, Mrs Nordon? Isn't it better to come to an agreement and share the Colonel's fortune? Doesn't 500 pounds make a very pretty sum?”

“I have to think about it. I have to talk to Mr Holmes about it…”

“To hell with Mr Holmes. Take my offer or leave it. I will not renew it, that I can promise you, good woman.”

"Please leave Mrs Nordon alone," I cried, not liking his tone and regaining my combative mood. “She will let you know her to answer in a few days.”

“I won't wait that long, Doctor Watson. Make it very clear to her that I want my answer tomorrow and not one day later. “

And with an energetic step, Mr Landsbury left the inn. Mrs Nordon had relapsed into her apathy and I wondered what Holmes was doing once more.

* * *

As it seemed certain that we had to spend another day alone together, I decided to take the opportunity to take a short walk. After all, Norwich was a pretty little town and an outing could help to forget the turmoil for a time. I managed to persuade Mrs Nordon to accompany me. For some time I was pleased to have managed it, but oh, how much I would regret it afterwards!

The people of Norwich, without necessarily thinking badly, watched her walking around like a curious beast. Another article had been published in the newspaper and the colonel's suicide had done her extreme harm. The young woman soon found herself followed by a few interested people, mostly young people, who did not take long to comment aloud about her behind her back.

"There's the governance!"

“It seems she inherits.”

“For a good deal, it's a good deal. The kidnapped girl, the suicide,  _ beautiful _ work!”

“And they say she's pregnant!”

“Is it from the Colonel or somebody else’s  _ bastard _ ?"

Laughter bursts out at this impertinent question. A tall, red-haired fellow cried out, bulging his chest.

"I wouldn't have said no. If Madame wants to take the trouble."

And the laughter continued.

Seeing the disastrous effect these cheeky jokes had on Mrs Nordon's nerves, on the verge of tears, I saw fit to step in and bring her back to the inn.

“Gentlemen, please be quiet and leave us in peace.”

“The bourgeois is getting angry. Sorry, Milord!”

“This must be the next customer.”

“A bit old for her, right?”

“It's not the age that matters, he must have a well-stocked purse!” 

This last line knocked me off my hinges and I raised my fists. Mrs Nordon, terrified, squeezed my arm with all her strength.

"But he wants to fight the guy!"

"I will not allow the honour of a lady to be insulted in this way," I replied.

“Doctor Watson, please. Let's go!” pleaded the desperate young woman.

“The fat bourgeois looks mean. Don't cry madam, we won't spoil him too much. He can still be of use for you in the bed-chamber!"

The laughter didn't last long as the one who had just said so found himself sitting on his butt in the middle of the sidewalk, rubbing his jaw. 

An uppercut that I was quite proud of had just made his downfall. If I had kept my old form from my rugby and army days, the fool would have been severely hurt. I was known to have a temper back then. 

The other rascals didn’t know how to react, yet, they were mean but not stupid. They dragged their friend from the street and together they hurried away. Only when they were just vanishing around the corner, they were picking up their voices again. 

Before I could answer them in kind, Mrs Nordon pulled me away with force. We made our way back to the inn. In the privacy of her room, she burst into tears and cursed me. I could not blame her, nor her decision to lock herself up in her room afterwards. 

I was noticeably less proud of myself by now. 

* * *

It wasn’t until the evening when finally Holmes returned. He was accompanied by an elderly man. I immediately recognized Mr Cavendish whom I had met under turbulent circumstances at the Norwich Police Station.

"Good evening, Doctor Watson," he said, stepping forward. “How is Mrs Nordon doing?"

He took off his hat, revealing some grey hair dotting a shiny skull. At my request, he took a chair and sat down beside me. Holmes joined us.

“She's not too bad.”

“Forgive my absence, Watson, but Mr Cavendish and I have needed all this time to prepare an unassailable court case.”

“Of course, Mr Holmes, of course, but will it be as you hoped?”

“I'm pretty sure. What happened in our absence, Watson?”

I was compelled to relate the painful scene of the afternoon, not without recounting the disagreeable interview with Mr Landsbury.

"And you hit that poor fellow in the middle of the street? Hell Watson, it's not good to make fun of the ladies around you. And you were ready to beat up as well Landsbury. You are unreasonable at your age."

The mishaps of the day amused my friend a lot. Further, I heard the echo of one of our last private conversations. It was as good as I _ love you _ I would ever get in public.

"Mr Landsbury seems sure of himself, Holmes." 

“But you too”, smiled my partner. He even dared to give me a little wink. I didn’t blush, but it was a near thing. 

Holmes and Cavendish wanted to speak to Mrs Nordon immediately. I went to fetch her, welcoming the time to calm myself. It wasn’t proper either if three men visited a woman in her room. 

First, she was scowling but the mention of Mr Holmes’ return made her smile reappear. 

“Mr Holmes! I was starting to despair.”

Secretly, I shared her sentiment. Far more willing, Mrs Nordon followed me downstairs. 

After a short greeting, Holmes took up the conversation: “I promised to protect you and I will keep my word, Mrs Nordon. This is Mr Cavendish. He agrees to take charge of your business.”

“You are too good a man.”

"Please, madame," replied the old man, blushing with modesty.

Soon the lawyer lost himself in the most off-putting legislative details whose conclusion was as clear as Holmes's, the case if there was a case, was won in advance.

* * *

The next day I witnessed a shocked Mr Landsbury, confronted with a lawyered-up and therefore much more confident Mrs Nordon. 

The colonel’s nephew had lost all of his haughtiness and appeared to curl up, while Mr Cavendish presented the various aspects of the case. In the end, Mr Albucklhurt ordered the young man in an authoritative voice to be careful not to disturb Mrs Nordon with any new threatening proposals. Then he announced that Mrs Nordon would be moving to Crevecoeur Hall that very evening.

Michael Landsbury left the office without retorting, shot to death.

Mrs Nordon finally seemed to regain all her joy and hope. She thanked everyone with lots of smiles and reverences, once more a charming young woman.

Suddenly, Holmes pulled me aside amid the general euphoria.

He whispered a few words in my ear: “We'll have to be careful, Watson, for the last act.”

  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses parts of Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons". Already the original author let Holmes play his Winter, so it seemed only fit to take the liberty and remix parts of Vivaldi's sonnet.


	7. Truth, At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the added tags. Possible triggers ahead! We're entering ANGST, ANGST, ANGST (and hurt/comfort by Victorian hubbies).

After the discussion with Mr Arbucklehurt, it was agreed that Mrs Nordon, Holmes and I, accompanied by Mr Cavendish, should leave without delay for Crevecoeur Hall. Holmes urged everyone on, clearly impatient. However, Mrs Nordon insisted that she needed to pick up her trunks before. 

Therefore, we had to wait in front of the inn, next to Mr Cavendish’s little pram. It was harnessed to a single, impressive brown horse, which was as old as its master. 

Holmes was displeased. "Pestilence is upon women and their whims," he muttered between his teeth.

“It's okay”, I smiled. “We have the time.”

“We should be at Crevecoeur Hall already, Watson. I imagine the worst.”

“The worst?"

But Holmes didn’t explain himself further. Mrs Nordon finally arrived, accompanied by several servants carrying her trunks. She seemed to have regained all her joy as well as her beauty.

"Haven't I taken too long?” she asked the detective with a charming smile. An indistinct growl was her answer.

Then, the carriage left on its final journey.

* * *

Soon we were driving through the quiet countryside. We had left Norwich behind us, but there was still the forest to pass through. Night had fallen. The sky was of pink colour that announced snow. Holmes did not loosen his teeth. Only Mrs Nordon was smiling.

Then the accident happened.

Fatal, disastrous.

Suddenly, on the left side, by a small forest path, a black carriage came out of the woods. It was at full speed, its horses racing. 

Our old brown horse reared in fear, despite Master Cavendish's whip. We could not avoid the carriage. Our little pram, so fragile, was hit violently on the side. 

We landed in the ditch, men and beast.

It was a big shock. 

I was thrown several meters. Thank God that I didn't hit a tree.

It took me several minutes to regain my senses. Someone was pulling me by the sleeve. Immediately I felt the cold burn on my skin.

"Watson," a worried voice whispered beside me.

"Holmes.”

“Thank God! You are alive."

I tried to sit up but I couldn’t. I hissed in pain.

“You’re not hurt, John? For God’s sake, say that you’re not hurt!”

One more time I witnessed the depth of loyalty and love which lay beyond that cold mask. Holmes' clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and I observed that his firm lips were shaking, and the cold wasn’t to blame alone. I always cherished whenever I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as a great brain, and yet, while I stood by the statement that it would be worth a wound, it still hurt a lot this time. 

“It’s my left leg. I think it's broken.”

“My dear man!”

“And you?"

I straightened up and looked at him. Holmes was lying on the ground. He was crawling and trying to get up, visibly shocked by the accident. A little blood was flowing from his forehead, but that was all I saw.

"What about Mrs Nordon?" I inquired.

“I think she's lying in the bushes over there. I didn't see her move."

We glanced at each other and Holmes managed to crawl over there.

“She is alive but unconscious. We will have to rescue her very quickly.”

“Why?”

“She's losing blood.”

“A miscarriage?"

Holmes didn’t answer me. He was holding his head. He must have banged his head hard against something. Finally, he was up. It was then that I noticed a sort of indistinct whisper, like a human rattle, floating in the surrounding air.

"What is it, Holmes?”

“Our horse. It is not dead, but it has both its front legs broken. It suffers. If only I had a gun…”

“What about Cavendish?”

“He is dead. His head hit a tree."

I let myself fall, overcome by all these horrors. I heard Holmes walk away in the night, his footsteps cracking snow. Everything was so quiet around us except the cry of pain from the injured horse. I had to get up, but it was intolerable pain.

I heard Holmes' footsteps come back to me. I managed to pull myself up against the trunk of a tree and could see what he was doing. To my horror, Holmes dragged Cavendish's body around and undressed him.

"Holmes...”

“Shhh. I’m already long overdue."

Soon Holmes stripped off his clothes and put them on the unfortunate unrecognizable corpse. Finally, he approached me: “The second carriage is stopped right next to our pram. It will no longer be able to ride but the horses are virtually unharmed. There is Robert's corpse near the car.”

“Robert? Don’t tell me that the carriage that hit us was Landsbury’s vanished one?”

“Watson, I'm leaving you.”

“Holmes!”

“Forgive me, my love, but the case isn’t over yet.”

“Holmes, where are you going?”

“I'm sorry, John, but you're going to have to make it on your own. Take care of Mrs Nordon. I'll be back soon."

Holmes put the solicitor’s black jacket over his bloody shirt.

Then he disappeared into the dead of night. 

* * *

I did my best to stand up. When I approached Mrs Nordon, I was wincing in pain. My leg must have been badly broken, but I managed to put my foot on the ground. Mrs Nordon was in a sorry state. She was still passed out and her face was bloodied. I had to find a solution. 

So I took my courage in both hands and grabbed each tree one after the other. In an indefinite time, I made my way to the second carriage. There, it still took me far too long to grab hold of the bridles of one of the horses, whose eyes rolled in terror. After another eternity I was able to untie the horse and draw it to Mrs Nordon. The horse, the poor beast, was terrified by the smell of blood, death and the continuous cry of the other horse. I tried to calm it down with my voice.

With patience and painful strength, I tied it to a tree. Then I grabbed Mrs Nordon's lifeless body and carried her on the horse, which neighed in surprise and fear. I was exhausted and could not get into the saddle until the third or fourth attempt. Without elegance I lay down on the horse's neck, feeling the pain radiate through my leg. 

Then we set off on our journey to hell.

Perhaps it was this presence of mind and tenacity that saved our lives. Suddenly, several shots erupted, narrowly missing us. Nearby trees were struck. The horse, terrified, frightened by this unusual noise, galloped off alone through the night. Before losing my consciousness for good, I prayed to Heaven that the beast did not go straight back to Crevecoeur Hall.

When I woke up an indefinite time later, I was in a hospital bed. I couldn’t recall how I ended up here, but hopefully, the person at my bedside would have all the answers...

* * *

When I woke up an indefinite time later, I was in a hospital bed. I couldn’t recall how I ended up here, but hopefully, the person at my bedside would have all the answers...

* * *

It was a heavy heart when I left my John in this uncomfortable, even possibly fatal, situation, but I saw no other solution. "They" were going to come back to see the success of their plan, maybe "they" were already there to spy on us. We shouldn't waste time, so I left.

I cursed myself for not picking up a gun, the old habit of blaming Watson for it was decidedly bad. I had to walk and walk quickly to reach the end of my journey. Wasn't it already too late?

Finally, after a long walk through night and snow, I pushed open the entrance gate to Landsbury's vault. But there was nobody.

In an instant, all was clear.

The little one was in the house, hidden somewhere. Now was the time to act. Watson would have related it with a lot of dramatic reinforcement, I cannot imitate him.

I wasted no time in guesswork and entered the mansion through the kitchen door. I had a bit of trouble breaking through the lock, not having my burglar gear with me, but I was soon in the place.

It was dark, everything was silent. I began to stealthily towards the door. It was no fun to concentrate, dizziness began to seize me. My head must have hit a rock hard in the accident, I guessed.

But I stepped forward at all costs and found myself in the hallway. A ray of light came out from under the living room door. I approached, hugging the walls. Two voices could be heard, people arguing, a man and a woman. I immediately recognized Michael Landsbury and Mary-Ann.

"And you didn't kill them, Michael?"

“I saw the body of Sherlock Holmes. He's dead. His head is crushed.”

“By Jove! And the governess?”

“The doctor took her on one of the horses. I fired the rifle but missed it. She didn't look alive anyway, as her arms were hanging out in the air.”

“My God! What did I do to end up with such an incompetent fool? You weren't even supposed to kill them, Michael. The police are going to come and stick their noses all over again.”

“But they're gonna charge Robert with the crime, Mary-Ann. I did leave the corpse in evidence. It was no small task. Then I ran to stand behind a tree a good distance away to shoot down the survivors. But I wasn’t quick enough. And the night…”

“Don't look for inane excuses! You are good for nothing. Ha, if I were a man!”

“Stop it! I still obeyed all your orders: Kill Robert, kill my uncle, kill Sherlock Holmes.”

“What about the kid? The only thing that can get us hanged, did you kill her?”

“I ... I couldn't ... Adèle is so sweet, and she's just a kid.”

“A hideous pretentious kid, yes. We must kill her. Now! Tonight! I've waited too long for this. Days, week! KILL IT!”

“Calm down, Mary-Ann. The police won't be there for a long time.”

“Coward! I'm going to go kill this kid myself. It won't be any more difficult than slitting a rabbit's throat for dinner."

Almost instantly, the handle of the living room door was turned violently. I felt a few cold sweat trickle down my back as I continued my silent path towards the front door. But it was only a false alarm. Their screams continue. Landsbury promised he would. The cook not arriving, I realized that his deafness was indeed severe so as not to hear such a noise.

When I got to the front door, I wanted to make sure it was wide open, not like unpleasant surprises. We would have an emergency exit. Knowing that the cook was sleeping upstairs, I decided to go down to the cellar. I hadn't been to the cellar yet, the little one could only be there. It took me several minutes to find myself in front of the door.

The dizziness was getting stronger and stronger, so I had to do my best to continue walking. I wasn't going to give up when the end was so near! It would have been unworthy of Holmes! I turned the doorknob but, of course, it was locked. It took me a few seconds to force it again and found myself in the darkness and dampness of the cellar.

Moans draw me to the darkest corner, behind a set of bottles. Adèle Landsbury was therefore still alive.

“I came to save you. I'm your daddy's friend. You understand, Adèle?"

A movement responded to me and a white shape crept nearer. A little girl covered in dust and grime looked at me in dread. She was gagged and her hands were tied. She cried.

I couldn't waste any time. I untied her bonds, put my black coat on her and hugged her.

"I hope, Miss Landsbury, you are not afraid of the dark as I am offering you a night walk. "

She shook her head and I took her away as quickly as possible.

  
  


The argument between Mary-Ann and Micheal had calmed down in the meantime. Silence echoed around the house, forcing me to be even quieter. But I was so weak by now, that to my shame I cracked down the stairs to the cellar. I managed to get the little one to the front door, where I would drop her off when the light in the hall suddenly dazzled me.

"When I told you I heard a noise, Michael," cried a voice with triumphant emphasis. 

I turned, Michael Landsbury stood there a few yards away. He had a rifle in hand. His partner, Mary-Ann, was standing not far from him. 

I was lost, but not the little one. 

Adèle Landsbury was hypnotized with fear, unable to move. I turned to her and shouted: “RUN!" So, Adèle run. 

Mary-Ann, recovered from her surprise, set off in pursuit through the night. As for Michael, he had come over to me and pointed his rifle at me. His eyes were dark. 

What could he do to me now? 

The lights were dancing in front of my eyes, my head was spinning. I had difficulty standing but I held on. For nothing in the world, I would not show my weakness in front of this man.

“I thought you were dead, Holmes. I saw your corpse."

I couldn't help but smile. "This is the annoyance of always being dressed the same, I am always identified with my clothes. Never in my face. But you must know this as well as I do.”

“You will regret not being dead, Holmes!”

“The police will be here soon. You lost, Landsbury”, I say quietly.

“Maybe, but I won't be here when they arrive. "

I had to save time. I knew this kind of criminal, so imbued with himself. All I had to do was to let him think he was dominating the conversation. Maybe that was my only chance to get out of here alive.

“You were a remarkable adversary, Landsbury.”

“And you are a remarkable pain in the ass. I had prepared everything, planned everything.”

“Why all this? Only for the inheritance?"

Landsbury smirked and leaned the barrel of his rifle harder on my chest. Missed.

"You take me for a fool, Holmes. As soon as Mary-Ann returns, I will kill you. Then we both will go. She must have killed Adèle already. She has the guts, my Mary-Ann. "

I listened to a clock, ticking away the minutes, somewhere in the house.

How was my dear Watson doing?

The cook seemed to be indeed tone-deaf.

Suddenly a terrible cry echoed in the park. A child's cry. My blood froze. Landsbury smiled.

"It's over. Brave Mary-Ann. Over to you, Holmes."

I refused to close my eyes, waiting for the searing pain to reach me 

The gunshot fired. 

I felt myself fall, passed out.

It wasn't until a few moments later that I woke up, my cheeks on fire. Detective Stanley stood beside me, a happy smile on his face, looking relieved.

“Slapping you was a great time, Mr Holmes.”

“But… "

I looked at Landsbury, he was lying on the ground, dead. A bullet had hit him in the chest. Thank God! The police had arrived on time.

“Watson?

“Doctor Watson was heroic tonight, Mr Holmes. He will have to be awarded a medal. He arrived in Norwich, almost unconscious. With a broken leg. Then someone came to tell me."

Ashamed of my weakness, I got up. About ten policemen surrounded me, mocking faces. Fortunately, Lestrade was not among them.

"Mrs Nordon?”

“In the hospital, with Doctor Watson. We do not know more yet."

I managed to take a few steps closer to Landsbury. The rifle would still be in his hands. Sounds of crying draw me to the foot of the stairs. Little Adèle was sitting on a step, she was crying. Embarrassed, I went running away and returned to Stanley but she called out softly. I crouched down and looked at her, about to say a few vague words of encouragement to her, but what she did then surprised me to the highest degree. I'm not used to this kind of demonstration: Adèle Landsbury stood up and hugged me while crying louder.

"Where's my daddy?"

I tried to release myself from his embrace as gently as possible.

"He…"

I did not know how to answer Adèle Landsbury. Watson would have known the words. I am lost without my Boswell, and for words as well. 

"Where's my daddy?" Adèle Landsbury repeated. “I prayed so much that he would come and get me. Mary-Ann was very mean to me. She even beat me. Luckily, cousin Michael was feeding me, but he lied to me. He promised that I would see daddy again when I was free. And my daddy isn't here. Where is he?"

I finally managed to free myself and took her two small hands in mine.

All I wanted was to get back to my Watson, to be at his side again, to reassure us that this horror was truly over and we both made it out alive.

But I had to find something to say to those big questioning eyes. Something, but what? Unfortunately, I, Sherlock Holmes, only knew to speak the truth.

"You're going to have to be strong, Miss Landsbury… Adèle… Your daddy is dead."

I ended my speech there. It seemed to me that the story of her father's suicide would have been a bit hard for a nine-year-old to bear. Finally, it seemed to me ... A noise made me look up and with great relief I saw the cook appear at the top of the stairs, finally awakened by all the noise, looking scared. Immediately she spotted Adèle and howled with joy.

“Miss! You are alive! What happiness! "

A woman would know better than I how to console a child.

Stanley was waiting for me to go out into the park. I followed him.

“The good Mary-Ann is near the vault.”

“Did you kill her too?”

“No. We arrived when the little one was chasing. It was the little one who let out a cry of fear when I caught up with her near the vault.”

“That scream almost cost me my life.”

“I let my men arrest Mary-Ann before she fled and I came to save you. We knew you came by yourself to throw yourself into the mouth of the wolf.”

“Watson told you all this?”

“You have a great friend here, Mr Holmes. He would have killed himself for you."

I am not a sensitive person, but Dr Watson's unconditional loyalty has always been precious to me. Brave old John Watson!

“We came as quickly as possible. And after the discovery of Cavendish's car in the ditch, it became urgent for us to arrive.

“Indeed."

And I decided not to continue the conversation. I didn't want to and had nothing to add.

Finally, I saw Mary-Ann arrive, dishevelled, held in respect by two strong policemen. The look she gave me was nothing short of malicious. Watson would have launched into a stripped-down description of her eyes, her face, her clothes ... I only saw a criminal dragged by two policemen to her future punishment because it was the hanging that awaited her.

In the house, she did not waste our time and recounted most of her story that I already knew: Love for Michael Landsbury, jealousy of a housekeeper barely older than her, hatred for little Adèle. Mary-Ann lived almost nothing but hatred and the desire for revenge.

It had been a long time since pretending to be a staunch friend of Mrs Nordon's. She had learned the secret of Miss Parker's true identity, waiting to use this precious information. After the signing of the new Will, an evil plan sprang up in the maid's mind. She and Michael decided to kidnap the little one. 

It was Mary-Ann who poured the drugs into the herbal tea. She opened the window while her lover waited downstairs. Then she lit a hellfire to burn the little girl's diary where she told how she didn't like the maid and how much the maid hated her. Then everything is linked. My arrival was scheduled and the letters were mailed to the newspapers. The scandal because of Mrs Nordon erupted, causing the colonel's suicide. Especially after the help of Michael who wrote to his uncle the story of the death of the kid, just to break his heart. The letter that Mary-Ann carefully had destroyed.

Michael had been waiting for this for a long time too. He, who was still riddled with debt, played his role of raven and deceiver to perfection. Mary-Ann and Michael had chosen Robert as a suspect from the start. Robert had to disappear and be killed. Michael would take care of it. 

Everything was going according to plan until Michael Landsbury couldn't bring himself to kill Adèle. 

Finally, the will caught them off guard. They had to change their plan and decided to remove all the troublesome witnesses. In the end, it led to their downfall.

I couldn't help but smile after this little summary.

“I understand,” I said, “your astonishment. Especially since this postscript was added to Colonel Landsbury's will by me. It was a setup, you see. And you fell in the trap."

I felt the deadly gaze of Mary-Ann on me. I firmly believed that without the handcuffs around her wrists, she would have gouged out my eyes.

“You made a fatal error, Mary-Ann. Robert, who had been in the service of Colonel Landsbury for so many years, would have never abducted his daughter. A young maid and a penniless nephew, however... You were the only one who knew about Mrs Nordon's past. You had had the opportunity to access the drawer, as well as to steal the key and make a duplicate. Who could buy the morphine to drug Adèle except you? The pharmacist in Norwich remembers you."

"I'll find you, Mr Holmes," she spat. “In hell, if I have to. "

And Stanley, tired of this insolence, gave the signal to leave. I was not sorry to leave Colonel Landsbury's house where there were only an old cook and a little orphan with the police.

Another long moment lost in the police station.

At last, I was able to visit John in the hospital. I was not in the best shape, so I was not sorry to rest for a few hours. 

* * *

When my dear Watson woke up, I was the first being he saw.

“Holmes! You are there!”

“Of course, where do you think I would be?"

My partner looked tired. His features were drawn. Watson had put his hand to his head. The poor man must have suffered from excruciating migraines.

“I don't know how to thank you, my dear Watson. You saved my life once again by alerting the police.”

“What else should I do?” I replied, touched to the heart by those words out of Holmes' mouth.

“Certainly, I abandoned you in a situation that could not be more disagreeable." Holmes had a knack for understatement.

I decided to switch topics and recall in a few sentences the clearest, least blurry parts of the night.

Holmes, in turn, told me about the night he had spent. I was glad to hear that Adèle Landsbury was alive. But what a treacherous woman this Mary-Ann turned out to be...

At last, it was agreed that we return to London as soon as my leg could support the journey. It was badly broken. I never knew where I had drawn the strength to do everything I had managed to accomplish that famous night...

* * *

For Mrs Nordon, the night was also trying: she lost her child and almost lost her life. The doctors managed to save her at the last minute and I wasn't even sure she cared. 

When he hurt about the news, once more back home in Baker Street, Holmes alone seemed to be relieved by the child's death, to my horror. However, he explained immediately: “Make no mistake, my dear Watson. The death of a child is an abominable thing. I know I am not as callous as you might think. But I have a confession to make and it would have been very painful for me to make to Mrs Nordon.”

“Which, my dear?”

“The colonel's letter acknowledging the paternity of the child is a forgery.”

“Sorry?”

“I imitated the colonel's handwriting.”

“Lord! How would you have done if you had to admit it to him?”

“I can't even imagine it. It was the only thing I could do to catch these criminals and get them to make a mistake.”

“A mistake that could have cost us our lives.”

“It costed that unfortunate Cavendish his life. Yes, Watson, this case is not one of my greatest successes. I prefer that the case not be published during the lifetime of Mrs Nordon or Miss Landsbury. It has already hurt them so much."

I understood the implicit implication, "and us too."

"Of course Holmes, another case for my Cox and Co. bank trunk."

My partner and friend nodded, then he joined me.

Together we stood in front of the window to observe the snow, which was slowly falling on England again.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost the end. There will be a very short epilogue. The little extra at the final confrontation is from "The Three Garridebs", however, the lines themselves are to be found in the original French story. And you assume right when you think that this scene made me fall in love with Lady Sybille's pastiche irrevocably.


	8. An Epilogue

Months passed. It was with pleasure that Sherlock Holmes and I rediscovered the softness of Baker Street and the first heat of spring. 

Mrs Hudson, worried about our condition, made it her mission to feed us up. Holmes even managed to gain a few pounds. A feat! As for me, it is common knowledge that Mrs Hudson's uplifting cooking never improved my waistline, as my partner so often tactfully pointed out.

In short, life was back on track and soon new investigations were taking place. Or, as Holmes reminded me during _The Red-Headed League_ , “ _L’Homme n’est Rien, L’Oeuvre Tout._ ”

One day Holmes was called to testify at Mary-Ann's trial. He only hinted at it to me, as it wasn't a very pleasant memory. Another time, he received a message from the prison where Mary-Ann was locked up, which informed us that she had been hanged that morning.

Holmes did not comment on it. The death of a human being had never cheered him up, even when it was a vile and Machiavellian being like this woman.

Finally, a letter arrived from Norwich, written by Mrs Nordon, who had taken up her maiden name after her divorce, and was now Miss Mersey once more.

Miss Mersey told us that life also continued in Norwich and that she had remained at Crevecoeur Hall at the request of Miss Adèle Landsbury. 

Last we heard, Adèle was making tremendous progress in riding...

And that was the real end of the Adèle Landsbury affair.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end! Thank you so very much for reading it. It brought us (author & translator) such pleasure to see the stats because it was our most wish to introduce this story to a new generation.
> 
> LadySybille wrote "The Disappearance of Adèle Landsbury" for a fan and friend, a member of the French Sherlock Holmes Society, who has sadly passed away. We want to bring this story to new audiences, not alone to the English speaking world but also to a younger generation. I dearly hope that I do her and her work justice. 
> 
> Merci, tak & thank you :)
> 
> Ade


End file.
